The Lord Of Winter
by NihonBara
Summary: Canada is being crushed under General Winter's ice. Our favorite hamburger-loving hero is on a mission to save it, but close on his heels is Ivan, desperate to possess Alfred by any means. Part Two of "The Canadian and the American". DISCONTINUED
1. Ivan's Desires

**Chapter One**

**Ivan's Desires**

(Warning: gore, violence, rape. This starts out with a bang.)

(I re-editied this chapter for a mistake I'll explain at the bottom)

"Mmmph! Mmmmph!" His Sunflower's cries were muffled by the dirty rag stuffed in his mouth.

"What a naughty boy you were," Ivan ruminated, rubbing the cold steel of his faucet pipe between the boy's butt cheeks. "You had me worried. Naughty, naughty slut. You will have to be punished more, da?"

Those blue eyes, puffy from crying, stared over his tanned shoulder at Ivan, widened with horror. They were pleading for him to stop. Ivan grinned, teasing the boy's hole with his steel rod.

His Alfred was helpless to stop him. The boy's hands and feet were bound together behind his back with a rope connecting them to a noose around the American's throat. Alfred had no choice but to keep his head up or choke. Ivan had him laying on his stomach on Ivan's oak desk, stuck in this permanent state of misery.

His Sunflower's back and upper arms were crisscrossed with whip marks and scratches, ones still bleeding. He also had patches of hair missing from his scalp, ripped out by Ivan in one of his fits of passion.

No matter what he doled out though, this boy would not break. He could see it in his eyes. It made him love the boy all the more. "Now Sunflower, when will you stop fighting me?" He giggled. Alfred groaned and squeezing his eyes shut and looking away when Ivan stretched his hole wide with a leather-gloved hand. "Beautiful," Ivan said, admiring the reddened hole. "Now which end should I use? This one or the faucet...," he trailed off, grinning as his pet's eyes shot open and darted back to him. "This one," he said, adding, "We will save the faucet end for a special night."

Alfred trembled and closed his eyes, returning his face forward. Tears trailed down his cheeks. He sucked in a sharp breath as Ivan twisted the pipe inside. His shrieks, silenced by the gag, he arched away, but Ivan gripped his waist one-handed, pulling him toward it.

A sob racked the boy's body; blood oozed out of his ass from the internal tears Ivan was inflicting as he shoved the metal far up there. "You adore it," Ivan purred, slipping it in and out of the boy. His own member rock hard and pressed painfully against his pants.

_Screams are lovely_, he mused in his head, _but denying someone their voice is so much sweeter_. Yes, there was something empowering about making them absolutely alone in their agony.

Lost to his own grunts of pleasure and Alfred's stifled sobs, Ivan drove the pipe in and out of the boy, enjoying the ripping sounds. It became easier as the blood lubricated the pipe. There was one thing bothering him though: Alfred's limp member.

He tutted and shook his head. His pet should be enjoying this too.

Leaning over, he kissed the boy's arms, digging his tongue into the many wounds he had marked his toy with. The boy tried to shrink away, but the ropes allowed little movement. "Stop denying me," Ivan whispered, breathing in the boy's _minty_ scent.

_Minty?_ A far away part of Ivan's mind wondered, _Alfred doesn't taste like mint_. The thought vanished quickly as he savored the boy.

Unable to hold himself back anymore, he yanked the pipe out and tossed it aside with a clatter. Ivan unbuttoned his pants and shimmied them down to his knees, releasing his stalk into the chilly air. He rammed into Alfred's bleeding hole. The boy's eyes bugged out and he groaned, wriggling away, but Ivan's bruising fingers held his hips.

"So good," Ivan grunted, grabbing Alfred's cock and stroking it hard. Though his smile didn't fade, his brows furrowed. No matter how he teased the tip or stroked, the boy wouldn't harden. "Pet," he warned. Alfred wouldn't acknowledge him. "Fine," he growled, stabbing in and out of the American hard enough to make the legs of the desk rock against the floor.

Alfred shuddered in what Ivan liked to believe was pleasure. "Whore!" he laughed, throwing back his head, he pounded faster and faster until Alfred passed out. He continued until the desk was shoved against the stone wall.

"Yes, yes, my bitch!" He moaned, pulling out at the last moment, he squirted out between the boy's tied up legs, milking himself to the last drop, he covered the boy's lower back in cum.

Panting, he sighed and turned to grab the pipe off the floor, noticing a mirror across from him on the wall. He froze at what he saw. The eyes he looked through were not his own, nor was the man reflected. That man was portly around the waist, had black hair streaked grey at the temples, a thick mustache, and cruel, deep-set, dark eyes. A man who haunted Ivan's dreams.

_No, no, NO!_ His mind wailed, terror worming deep. Then he saw in the reflection who _really_ lay on the desk. It wasn't Alfred. It was a young boy, one on the cusp of manhood, with silver locks instead of golden.

Despite the pain, the boy's violet eyes opened, a mixture of fright and fury, they glared at him in the mirror. _How dare you_, they said. Panic consumed him. _NO!_ His mind shrieked, _NOT AGAIN_.

Suddenly, he was the boy, the young Ivan, his anus throbbing with pain and bleeding over the desk. A deep, baritone voice, all too familiar, cooed, "Ready my slut?"

Ivan shrieked into the foul rag, clawing out of the nightmare.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Letting out a strangled cry, he thrashed in the bed so hard he tumbled out, his legs, tangled in the sheet, caused him to land on his back with one leg still on the bed. Naked and cold, he lay there panting. Waiting as the last vestiges of the visceral nightmare faded, growing distant, but never gone. Never gone.

He took in where he was. Yes, one of the many rooms of his castle in Moscow. Alfred was not here and never had been. The previous month's events came flooding back, washing away the last of that terrible dream.

He stared at the red canopy of his four-poster bed then his eyes drifted behind him, out the balcony. The half-moon was there, spilling its silver-velvety light across his upper half. He gazed at it, increasingly aware of a scent. _Blood_, he realized.

His eyes went to his lap. His dick and inner thighs were smeared and crusted with it, but it wasn't his. He sat up in concern, foggy memories bubbling back. A servant, a young man with blonde hair and blue eyes, that Ivan had requested for the night. The boy had been less than satisfying, but his memories of Alfred had left Ivan hard and even though humping the servant had been as exciting as fucking mud, he had done it. At some point, everything had gone hazy. There had been a gurgling noise and hands beating at him.

Rising to his feet, he already knew what awaited him on the bed. The boy's eyes were glassy and dead. His crushed throat explained how he had died. The blood covering the bedding below the boy's lower half and the pipe, glistening with blood, told the horror he had died in.

_Bastard_, Ivan thought, unsure who he meant. He shut the boy's eyes, knowing apology was useless. He had lost control. Another blackout had happened where his mind skipped over events. They were more common now. _Ever since Alfred_... he stopped the thought.

He needed the American back for more reason than one. Without Alfred, the narrow bridge of sanity he had been walking had shrunk to a tight rope. One that threatened to snap at any moment.

It was hard to tell what was real sometimes. More and more he felt he was losing himself. Becoming nothing but a host for Winter. Only with Alfred had he felt more in control of himself than he had in years. _And now he's gone_, he thought, his rage rising.

Unable to take any more, he grabbed the pipe, wiped it clean, and stepped onto the balcony. Even in Spring, Russian nights were cold. Russia had now become a land of perpetual Spring and Summer. Its winters sent to other lands such Canada and France.

He smiled, one that never reached his eyes, and said, "Winter."

The pipe turned freezing. A dull, purple glow emanated from it. A voice that would curdle most people's blood, spoke, "Yes, _Snowflake?_"

Ivan grimaced at Winter's use of Alfred's term of affection for him. Winter had been mocking him with it since they had returned to Russia. Forcing a smile, he asked in strained voice, "Is that your handiwork back there?"

"_Ours_, Vanya, _ours_," Winter replied. Ivan's hand clenched around the pipe. He despised Winter calling him that. That icy voice continued, "You _were_ more than a spectator."

"You didn't need to kill him," Ivan said.

"_We _didn't need to kill him," Winter corrected, "We couldn't help it. We were lost in our mortal pleasures." Ivan wrinkled his nose in disgust, but kept his grin firmly plastered to his features. "Why did you summon me?"

Through clenched teeth, he said, "You once offered me a deal for finding people across great distances. A deal involving use of that _place_." He shuddered recalling Winter's _lessons_ there.

"Yes," the voice agreed fondly.

"Are the terms the same?"

"They are."

"Can it be done to Alfred?"

"It can."

"Just Alfred?" He inquired, wanting to be sure of what he was getting.

"Yes."

"Why only him?" He asked, curious.

"That night _we_ strangled him and he overwhelmed you, he let a sliver of my power into his heart. That seed remains and it is by that, I can lead you to him in that _place_ you so love," Winter said, chuckling at Ivan's discomfort.

"And not the Canadian Prince?" he asked, contemplating the tortures he would inflict on that _bastard_ if he could. For some reason now that he knew Alfred's real name, he could not recall the other. The Canadian Prince's face like his name was elusive to his mind.

"He is hidden," Winter said, his voice tinged with annoyance. _It bothers him_, Ivan noted with satisfaction.

"That is fine. Alfred is the one I want. When is the first night I can begin?"

"Less than a handful away. The full moon is near and on that night, Alfred will be yours."

"Then I accept your offer."

"Marvelous. I will prepare," Winter said and the glow winked out, leaving Ivan once more alone. As alone as he could ever be.

"Soon, my Sunflower, soon," he gazed up at the half-moon. He would have his Alfred even if it cost him dearly. "Forgive me," he whispered to no one at all.

(**END OF CHAPTER ONE.** The nightmares are back and Ivan's mind is slipping. He is losing himself to Winter. And what of this deal? What has Ivan given up and what has he received? Stayed tuned as we turn to Alfred in **Chapter 2: Tales Under the Moon.**)

(Did I fool you? Yeah, it was a dream! Sorta. The main thing is, Ivan didn't do that to Alfred. Now we can cross messed-up torture sex off our list of smut scenes.)

(Also the reason they spoke with contractions is because they are speaking in Russia. Sorry I don't speak Russian so... yeah just assume that two people fluent in Russian would speak in Russian.)

(**The Mistake:** I re-read this after several people's comments and realized that oops it had read "young boy". Like as in a child in Ivan's quarters. I was horrified. I never meant that to be a child that was raped and killed in that way by Ivan/ Winter. It was always a young man of Alfred's approximate age. Really sorry about that error. So I changed it above to read young man.)


	2. The Vivid Sky (Chapter 2)

Chapter 2

Tales Under the Moon

(Oh my! I found the long-lost Chapter 2. It was in the oddest of places. It was not only under a wrong file name but it was stuffed away in a completely unrelated file. This is not the complete chapter. Pieces are missing. But hopefully you can enjoy it. )

Yessiree! Alfred thought, this is the life for me!

Here he was relaxing in his brown pants and bomber jacket, fingers laced behind his head, laid out on top of his woolen sleeping bag. His cowboy boots were tossed to the side, leaving his socked-feet free and open to the cool night air.

Up above were about a billion stars and all around were rolling grasslands. Life's sure different in the prairies, he thought. Out here, nobody cared if you ate with a salad fork or a dessert fork. A fork was just a fork and after what he'd seen of castle life, he'd come to agree with his pop's assessment of etiquette. It was nothing but an excuse for nobles to look down their noses at everybody else.

His stomach growled, reminding him of one thing he did miss about castle life: the food. His eyes shifted left, past the campfire, to a log where sat his traveling companion, Dane Cook. Younger than him by at least a couple years, Dane was holding two dead rabbits, both impaled on sticks, over the flames.

Dane had caught and killed the little guys before Alfred had noticed. Not one to let good food go to waste Alfred would eat his, but he felt awful for it. He'd always had a soft spot for hares.

Dane, himself, was something of an enigma. It was puzzling to Alfred why he was out here. The boy dressed rather prissy, sporting white gloves and half-laced boots. Even more impractical was his outfit: a deep brown jacket and pants combo with white dress shirt and ribbon-tie. Looks like he dressed up for a ball and got rolled around in the dirt along the way, was Alfred's first thought when he met the kid. All his clothes appeared like they had once been very fine but were now worn and dirty by months of use.

Even more puzzling was Dane himself. Cool on the outside, showing little emotion, he seemed rather "hot-blooded" inside. Alfred hadn't noticed at first, but had started to suspect Dane's true nature over time. It was in the little things. Like now. The way he had Alfred's rabbit deep in the fire, burning it black on one side.

"Dude, it's done," Alfred tried again. If it wasn't for them being bunnies, he would have roasted his own, but dammit it was a bunny! It would be hard enough eating the sucker.

"Hmmm?" Dane murmured, turning the rabbit around so that the undercooked side could be charred as well. Yup, he's pissed, Alfred thought though Dane's face remained as impassive as always.

Alfred groaned and sat up, cross-legged, saying, "Dude, there's no need to be a dick about it."

Dane tilted his head in confusion, raising one of his silver-white eyebrows. They matched his always-tousled hair. To Alfred, his most striking feature was his eyes. They were a deep shade of purple just like someone else Alfred knew. Don't think about it, Alfred ordered his mind, banishing the thought.

"What ever do you mean?" Dane mused, his face remained a sea of tranquility, but Alfred's rabbit went almost to the embers.

"Not cool man!" Alfred said, wincing at what he'd have to eat. Going hungry was not an option. Not for him. "C'mon man! It was just a joke," he lied. Now his bunny was all but in the ash. "Look, fine! I'm sorry I suggested we eat the bird. I didn't realize he was special to you. Won't happened again," he grumbled.

Mr. Puffin, as Dane called the bird, popped his head up from behind the log, where Dane sat, and glared at Alfred for the umpteenth time. For some reason, the penguin-like-bird wore a pink bow-tie. When Alfred had asked Dane why, he had just shrugged and replied, He likes it. Like that was an answer!

"Your dinner is done," Dane said, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. That was his smile. He carried the blackened rabbit over and handed it to Alfred, commenting, "I hope you like it well-cooked. I forgot to ask."

"You're lucky I don't kick your ass and take yours," Alfred muttered, taking it as he eyed Dane's perfectly cooked rabbit. The only thing holding him back was that his was at least not recognizable as a rabbit anymore.

Dane didn't seem the least bit intimidated by Alfred's death gaze and even warned, "If I were you, I would not get on Mr. Puffin's bad side."

"Is that a threat?" Alfred asked.

"No, just a word of advice," Dane answered, heading back to the log where he sat down and nibbled on his.

"As if I'm afraid of a bird," Alfred snorted, rolling his eyes as he chomped into his over-cooked food. Not half bad, he thought. The meat inside had somehow been spared though the outside was crunchy. Maybe he did know a little of what he was doing, Alfred mused.

"Well, I warned you," Dane said, shrugging. The bird, that wasn't a penguin because its beak was too big according to Dane, ducked back behind the log. It had been doing that all evening. It both creeped Alfred out and made him want to chunk a rock at its head.

"Where'd you meet your friend anyway?" Alfred inquired, munching on a mouthful.  
>"Mr. Puffin?" Dane said, taking another small bite. Good Lord, he eats like that Canadian guy, Alfred noted. He was still adjusting to the idea that he had a brother. One actually related to him. "I met him...," he trailed off as if debating something internally, he finished, "in Iceland."<p>

Tearing off another hunk with his teeth, Alfred gulped it down and said, "Iceland?" Kinda dry. Needs some cheese or ketchup, he thought, continuing, "Wait, hey isn't that the place that Russia destroyed?"

There was a small downturn to Dane's eyes as the boy nodded, agreeing, "Yes, it is."

"So," Alfred began, holding up a forefinger as he smiled, "It is really is Iceland now." Nothing changed on Dane's face, but Alfred had the strongest suspicion that the boy was not amused. Maybe it was the way Mr. Puffing reappeared, pulling the tip of his wing across his throat in the universal "You're dead" sign. "Relax, I was kidding," Alfred tried to laugh it off. "So...um... where's Iceland anyway?"

Dane sighed and explained, "In a very cold part of the world. Despite that, the heat in the ground always kept it warm before."

"Neat-o," Alfred chirped, chomping off more meat. He licked his greasy lips and fingertips. Dane stared at him looking a little green. "What?"

"N-nothing," Dane answered, "I am just recalling my fondness for napkins."

"Pfff," Alfred snorted, rolling his eyes, "Are you some kind of noble or something?" Dane didn't physically move, but Alfred again got the feeling the boy had flinched. "You do know we're in the Wild Lands, buddy. In case you didn't get the message, tables manners go out the window here. Just like me, you haven't bathed in days."

"I have noticed," Dane replied, crinkling his nose a little.

Priss, Alfred grumbled in his head. That definitely fit the kid. Deciding not to use to the bones for stew, he plucked them off the stick and tossed them far out of sight, they went sailing off into the grass. He smirked at his strength and said under his breath, "Rest in peace little buddy." Turning back, he planted an elbow on his knee and set his chin on his fist, asking, "So I'm curious now. What brings a dainty boy like you here from Iceland, wherever that is?"

Dane gazed at the fire for a long time, before looking Alfred straight in the eye and answering, "I'm searching for the Fairy Land." Alfred tensed, his hand shot under his bag, grabbing his hunting knife, he was on his feet. Mr. Puffin jumped onto his log, feathers puffed out, but Dane continued like nothing had changed, "Fear not, Alfonso." To Dane, he was Alfonso F. Jonas. Brilliant cover, right? He had inwardly congratulated himself on cooking it up. "We are not your enemy. We seek it for the same reason as you. To stop General Winter."

"How do you know I'm looking for it?" he asked suspiciously.  
>A slight wrinkle in Dane's brow signaled a frown. "It was obvious. You advertised it all over that town."<p>

"What do you mean?" He inquired, sitting back as before, but he left the hunting knife in reach on the ground. "I did not!"

"Oh really?" Dane replied, crossing his arms. "You did not run around asking everyone in town, excuse me, do you know where the Fairy Land is?"

"Th-that was research!" Alfred sputtered. "I was trying to get some answers. I covered it up!"

"You see, it is my friend's summer resort, is not a cover!" Dane insisted. "The Fairy Land is not an adventure land! It is a mystical place filled with magical beings."

Alfred bit back a snicker, saying, "Yeah, yeah."

"You have no idea what you are looking for," Dane stated.

"Well, then I guess it's good I found you," Alfred noted. "Because you do apparently."

"Not exactly," Dane said with the faintest hint of embarrassment, he set his gaze on the fire. "Just that it is supposed to be somewhere in the Yellowstone Woods, sealed away from human reach."

"Well, then how do we get there?" Alfred questioned.

"A-Anyway," Dane said, changing the subject, "You should not advertise yourself so much. You are lucky those people thought you were mentally lacking."

"They did not!" Alfred gasped, offended. "What makes you say that?"

"Hmm," Dane said, tapping his chin with his forefinger. "Let us see. Could it be how you always shove food down your throat like it is your last meal? Or could it have been that you spoke English to them at million words a minute, despite the fact that half of them were immigrants from other lands who were still learning English and and had no clue what you were saying and tried to signal this to you on numerous occasions." Dane cocked his head to the side, "I cannot think of why."

"You're crazy," Alfred chuckled, "They didn't speak English? How can you insult them like that? Just because they have accents doesn't mean it's not English!"

"Accents?"

"Yeah, they had accents. I couldn't understand them but I know they weren't speaking French or Spanish and since those are the only other languages besides English," he left the statement hanging.

Dane just gaped at him with the most utterly confounded face he had ever seen on the boy. Then to Alfred's puzzlement, the boy began softly laughing, "Ha, ha, ha, wait... you were serious?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" He responded, scratching his temple. "Man, you icelanders are hilarious."

Dane lifted his eyes skyward and sighed, shaking his head slightly.

"So tell me," Alfred asked, "Why did Russia destroy Iceland? I mean how did they piss Ivan off that badly?"

A thick silence blanketed them. Eventually, Dane broke it, "Their leader was a fool," he began. "To spare his older brother from Subjugation, he tried to kill Ivan."

Alfred swallowed hard. He hadn't heard this. Granted he hadn't asked before or cared to learn, but it was very surprising nonetheless.

"Russia once helped Iceland and ever since then, they had good relations. Ivan trusted their Lord a little more than most. Iceland's Lord used that and invited Ivan over; he attempted to poison him with soup."

Poison? Alfred thought, the memory of his own attempt to drug Ivan popped into his head.

"What happened to Iceland's lord?"

"He escaped," Dane said, his voice tinged with disgust, "Like the miserable coward he was, he abandoned his kingdom to rot."

"Wow, that's kinda harsh man."

"But fair and true. Their King was the worst kind of scum," Dane said, his voice flecked with disdain.

"You sound like you knew the guy," Alfred said. Dane became very still, Alfred rolled on, "Surely, he couldn't have been that bad."

Dane looked at him and that slight smile returned as he said, "Do not call me Shirley." Alfred blinked. Crickets chirped around them. Dane sighed and added, "That was a joke."

"Oh!" Alfred gasped, hitting his palm with his fist. "Oh! I get it! Surely, Shirley. Ha, ha, ha! Funny man!" he cried, forcing himself to laugh. This wasn't the first time Dane had attempted one of his jokes. When he had introduced himself to Alfred he had told a knock, knock joke that had left Alfred gaping at him. Afterwards, Dane had explained in his dead-pan way that Alfred was supposed to laugh. Alfred, being Alfred, had done so in an over-the-top manner like it was the funniest thing ever.

"You do not have to pretend," Dane suggested, "I know my humor is difficult for you."

Wait, was that an insult? Alfred wondered. The tone was so understated it could be taken either way. Hard to read definitely described Dane. It was Dane who a couple days ago in town had approached Alfred about them traveling together since they were both heading the same way. Alfred being the hero and knowing how dangerous the Wild Lands were, had gladly accepted. Company was always welcome after all, but he was growing increasingly curious about this kid's story.

"Would you like to hear a story?" Dane suddenly asked.

"What kind of story?" Ghost story? Alfred's mind hoped. He loved those! They totally didn't scare him. Not at all.

"One about magic."

"Oh," Alfred deflated, "Okay, sure."

Dane reached behind him into his brown rucksack, pulling out a small brown pouch. He opened it and threw a handful of glittery powder onto the fire. Alfred gasped. It changed colors, going several shades of red, then purple, settling at last on blue.

"How did yo-" He stopped. The kid held his forefinger to his lips and winked, tucking the pouch away. Dane knitted his fingers together and placed his chin on top of them, watching the fire.

"Observe," Dane said, nodding at it. Alfred stared transfixed as the flames took on four forms of fire. The first was an elderly man in a long cloak with a cowl over his head. He had a long beard and his back was slightly bent. The second shape was a curvy woman who danced in the flames. The other two were a little girl and a tall man in armor.

"Those are General Winter, Lady Summer, Lady Spring, and General Autumn."

"Dude," Alfred breathed, enthralled by the fire. Multi-colored sparkles swirled up in the air above it. "I got get some of that stuff."

A small smile played on Dane's lips as he continued, "They are the immortal beings of magic. As legend tells, the Creator made them to govern the magic of this world. A poem best sums up their powers. Forgive me if my translation does little for its beauty:

That as much as I can remember," Dane finished.

"Duuuude, cool," Alfred said, giving him a grin and thumbs-up. "Nobody ever told me that story."

A little teeth showed between Dane's lips. Is that grin? Alfred wondered. "I suppose not. Merlin's Curse is wiping out the very memory of magic in most," Dane replied, his smile fading.

"You know of that cursy-thing?" Alfred said, pointing at him. He squinted a little, his head aching.

"Do not dwell on it too long. If you do the pain in your head will grow," Dane warned. Alfred didn't like the idea of something that forced him to forget things, but for now he wouldn't fight it too hard.

"How come you can think about magic and stuff then?"

"My family," he said, looking away, "is more resistant than most. We dabbled in spell casting back in the day."

"Like wizards?" He leaned forward eagerly.

"In a way."

"So then you can totally help me get to Fairy Land!"

Dane's face darkened slightly but he nodded.

"So what happened?"

Dane blinked.

"With the four whatevas," Alfred explained.

"It is difficult to say," Dane said, frowning with concentration, "Many records are lost from that age. And many were destroyed. People did not want to remember. All that is left is vague, but they speak of a great betrayal."

"So Winter betrayed everyone. Doesn't surprise me."

"I suppose," Dane agreed.

"You know what I don't get and it's the problem I always have with this voodoo stuff."

"What is voodoo?"

"My point is," Alfred continued, "Why do it?"

"Huh?"

"Put four angels or whatevas in charge if they were only going to turn on each. I mean if I were a supreme being," he ignored Dane's raised eyebrow, "I would know. So why do it?" His head hurt from all this thinking.

"You're over-thinking this," Dane stated, "The Creator knew what he was doing. He gave men free will so why not the Eternals?"

"Yes but men don't have nation-destroying powers. Seems risky making uber-powerful beings like that. Seems like our world would be better off without them or magic."

"I disagree. The Creator surely had a reason. Hetalia is a w-."

"Hetali-what?" Alfred interrupted.

"Sometimes Americans astound me," Dane said.

"I know right," Alfred laughed. "We're awesome. So what's that mean?"

"Hetalia is the ancient name for the world."

Alfred snorted with laughter, "You serious? That's what they called it?"

"What is so humorous?"

"Haytalea? What kind of lame name is that?"

"Hee-ta-lee-ah," Dane corrected, "And is it not lame. What would you have named it?"

Alfred shot up to his feet, holding his fists above his head as he answered, "Burgesa!"

Dane stared at him, his face mostly composed, but there was a subtle twitch above his left eye.

"Or no wait, I got it! Cheese and Lettucia! No, no, Hambagasia! Yeah, that's the one," he said, grinning and shooting Dane the thumbs up. Suddenly joy infuses his every pore and he yelled out, "NO WAIT! AMERICA! That would be an awesome name for the world!"

"Good night Alfred," Dane said, laying down on his bedding as he unlaced his boots and tugged them off.

"Whaddya' goin' to bed for? The conversation was just getting good!" Alfred whined, noticing the fire had returned to normal.

Dane already had his back to Alfred who groaned and laid back down, facing the sky. His eyes went to the left, smiling at the rising full moon that was peeking its head above the horizon.

He smiled reminded of a night long ago when his pops took him tracking. They spent that night laid out on a boulder, star-gazing. He had only been a boy when he asked, Hey pops, what are those?

"Those are stars," his pops answered.

"I know that, but I mean what are they?"

"I don't really know, but the Natives of this land once believed that heroes would be sent to them so that they could watch over us and remind us what true courage is."

"Really?" Young Alfred asked, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Then I want to go there!" He pointed at the big white orb in the sky.

His pops chuckled, "That's the moon, silly."

"But can't I go there?" Alfred wondered, growing disappointed.

"Well," His pops said, his eyes twinkling in the starlight, "No hero has gone there so far, but none 'ave been good enough. Only the greatest hero ever known can go there."

"Then I'll do it! I'll be the most amazing hero ever!" Alfred declared, jumping to his feet, he pumped a fist into his palm. "By the way what do you think it's like up there? Ma said it was made of cheddar cheese. Is that true?" He asked, hopeful, falling beside his pops.

"I hear it's actually made of hamburgers," his father said, winking.

"OH MY GOD! I'M SO GOING THERE!"

Papa Jones threw his head back laughing and pulled his son into a fierce hug. "I don't doubt it," and then he pulled Alfred into a bear lock and tickled his side.

"Hey no fair!" Alfred giggled, playfully beating him off. Alfred could have easily shoved him off, but he didn't want to hurt his pops.

"C'mon hero show me what you're made of!" His Pops continued and Alfred tickled him back until their lungs were sore from all the laughing.

Alfred smiled at the warm memory. The corners of his mouth fell a little, remembering that Pops wasn't really his father. Yet in his heart, he always would be the man Alfred admired most in this world.

When he got older, he realized his pops had made it all up, yet he the promise he made that night remained in his heart, along with the dream. He ached for it.

People often called him clumsy, but the truth was, he was always tripping over the ground because his eyes were up toward the sky and the endless possibilities up there. That's where the real stories are, he believed.

His eyelids drooped as he gazed at the moon, feeling that familiar longing in his heart. Wondering if it really was made of cheddar or hamburgers, he fell asleep.

* * *

><p>At first he thought he was back at the castle in Toronto, but then he realized this castle was different. This one held a menace. He was in a dark, stone corridor lined with doors. Finding no end to it, he chose one and entered.<p>

He was in a room with a huge bed of rose-colored sheets, big enough for five. Rose petals were scattered all over it and the floor. Off across the room was an open balcony showing a starry sky and the bone-white face of the moon.

Rushing over there, hoping for an escape, though from what he could not say, he leaned over the stone railing, gazing down at a dark conifer forest. Something caught his eye, a figure, maybe a boy, running far away in the snowy trees. He disappeared from sight.

"Sunflower," purred an all too familiar childish voice from behind him. His limbs seized up and he couldn't move. Not from fear, though there was a lot of that, but something held him fixed like the air itself had become solid. Cold arms encircled him and colder lips pressed into his nape.

"This is a dream," he managed, his mouth going dry.

"Da, my love," Ivan cooed, rubbing his nose in Alfred's hair, "But it is our dream. One that is very real and one from which you might never wake."

Alfred was turned around, not by Ivan directly, but by the air itself and made to face those violet eyes that looked emptier than he remembered. Ivan was, of course, grinning.

He opened his lips to force more words out, but Ivan's mouth clamped over them, a tongue pushing itself inside. He could not bite down or fight back. His heart thudded in his chest. Whatever this nightmare was, he was trapped in it with Ivan and it was going to be a long night.

(END OF CHAPTER TWO. Okay let's just say physics and rules of human anatomy will broken in Chapter 3: Defying Gravity)


	3. Defying Gravity

**Chapter 3: Defying Gravity**

(Totally taken from my favorite song in the musical "Wicked". A story about how the Wicked Witch of the West was never really a villain. She just had good intentions that got twisted and warped. She was also misunderstood a lot. Love that song. Check it out if you haven't heard it.)

Alfred moaned into Ivan's kiss, those cold hands roamed over him, exploring. _Stop it!_ His mind cried, snapping him out of it. He stiffened. Ivan leaned back, that grin creepy as ever.

Before he knew what was happening, he was drawn back into the room, pulled by those invisible bonds of air, helpless in the confines of Ivan's arms. They stopped between the bed and a round table with a map of the world on it.

_Wait_, Alfred realized, _that table wasn't there before!_ He wanted to look at it, but his face wouldn't turn from Ivan, only his eyes would move. He studied it out of the corner of his vision.

"I thought about Sunflower petals," Ivan sighed, glancing around the stone floor, "But rose petals are more romantic."

Alfred gaze clapped back onto Ivan.

Ivan continued in a voice edged with hurt, "Why did you run? You know you cannot escape me, my pet."

"I am _not_ your pet!" Alfred retorted, sick of listening to this. "I could never be with someone so monstrous!"

Deaf as always to reasoning, Ivan cooed, "You do not mean that."

"Like hell I don't!" Alfred growled. Ivan kissed his forehead, flicking Nantucket with his tongue. Alfred's shuddered, a wave of warmth coursing through him. "Stop it," he said, weakly. _Stupid hair!_ He muttered in his head.

"Where are you?" Ivan demanded.

It came into his head. The image of him laid out on his back in the real world. He noticed Ivan's intense gaze and heard a scraping noise. His eyes slid back to the map, the source of the sound. On top of it was now a carved wooden Sunflower figurine that was inching across it, moving to where... _I am_, he realized.

He filled his head with random thoughts. Surprisingly easy for him. _Burgers! Burgers! Ghosts and burgers! Gilbert Ghost burgers!_ He paled at the truly horrifying image he had conjured up, but it worked. The figurine stopped.

_Can he read my thoughts?_ He wondered with alarm.

"Stop fighting this my love," Ivan whispered, annoyance obvious in his tone. He cupped Alfred's cheeks. Alfred kept his gaze averted, growing red under those eyes.

_Stupid commie asshole!_ Alfred screamed in his head, waiting for a reaction, but there was nothing. _So he can't read my thoughts?_ He contemplated, but..._ burgers, cheese, coffee, burgers!_ He again filled his head with a cacophony of randomness to keep his thoughts away from his location. Alfred wasn't sure how it worked in this world, but thinking about _that_ was dangerous_._

"It is so real. Like you are really in my arms," Ivan commented, "I never expected this."

_How did he do this?_ Alfred wondered. Ivan rested his forehead against Alfred's. He could feel his cool breath tickling his nose. "Ivan," Alfred began, "Snowflake," he continued, trying to wiggle his toes in his boots, or move something. "If you really care for me, you'll let me go."

"Nyet," Ivan answered, breathing in Alfred's scent. "Love is possession, my darling. It is natural to possess what you love. You will see in time," Ivan insisted, kissing Alfred's lips again. Snow and pine sensations invaded his mouth and his heart twitched with a familiar longing. _NO! _He declared in his head. He would not do this. He would not look the other way while Ivan danced him around like a puppet. "Those fools misled you. Convinced you to run from me, but I will you the truth."

"I doubt it," Alfred breathed. _It is weird_, he thought, _Ivan refuses to accept even the smallest act of defiance in anyone else, but he overlooks all of mine, saying I'm just confused_. _Like I'm a child_. That very idea made him boiling mad.

"If you would just understand me," Ivan mused.

Alfred frowned, snapping, "Understand you? Understand _you?_ Why don't you understand _me?_ Why don't you understand _no?_ Or go to hell? Why can't _you _listen?" Alfred glared at the Russian, shouting, "I hate you!" He ignored the pang of sorrow in his heart. "Why can't you understand that and leave me the hell alone?"

He thought Ivan would strike him, but the man hugged Alfred tighter, "Because you do not understand your own heart," he replied, his voice almost desperate, "Whether you accept it or not, I am in there. It belongs to me."

_Dammit! Fucking commie son of bitch!_ His mind roared. Those were just a few of the curses that spewed through his head. The only reason he didn't utter them is they all came at once and he couldn't get them all out at once so they got stuck in his throat. Or that's what it felt like. Letting out a strangled cry instead, he began laughing.

This situation was so ridiculous it had become hilarious. He laughed at Ivan, laughed in his face, "You think you know me? You think after all you've _done_ I would want you? You threaten my friends, my _family_, and even my world, yet you think, after all that, I'd give a damn about you! You're _pathetic_!" He snarled.

And of all those words it was the last two he wished he could retract. He knew he shouldn't mouth off to Ivan here, in this place, but when it came to the Russian so many feelings were always simmering just below the surface that it was hard to keep them from sometimes boiling out.

"Sunflower," Ivan said in a low voice, his hands gripped Alfred's upper arms painfully. Ivan was shaking, but again Ivan giggled it off and that smile returned, "The things those vermin have taught you. They love to to lie and corrupt innocence. They preach and get others, like you, to do their dirty work, but at the end of the day they are naught but cowardly worms. My Alfred you are so above them, why can you not see that? Why can you not let me protect you?"

Alfred wanted to beat his head against a wall. They were having two very different conversations here and one, his, was being filtered in Ivan's head, turned into exactly what the Russian wanted to hear. He was sure that the man's Russian Filter System had probably translated, "_I hate you_," into "_You're such a yummy teddy bear, oh da, you are!"_

"What are you talking about?" He tried once more and spoke his next words very slowly and emphatically, "I...DON'T...NEED...YOU!" Again it fell on deaf ears. "Dammit Ivan!" He cried, "Can't you see what you are doing is wrong? Whatever they have done, they don't deserve what you've done, what _you're_ doing!"

Something in that did reach Ivan and he pulled away, his eyes fervent, "Da, they do," he stated, his voice almost haunted. "They _deserve_ me. I," he spat the next words, "am the nightmare they _made!_"

_God, he's insane_, Alfred thought, but he wondered what Ivan meant. _Did something happen to him?_ Ivan pressed his lips to Alfred's collarbone and Alfred shut his eyes, disappointed at how weak he still was to Ivan's touch. His body was giving in.

Ivan trailed his tongue up Alfred's throat and chin, licking his earlobe, he panted, "Enough of this. I need you now." And with that, he hoisted Alfred up and carried him like a bride to the bed. Releasing him, Alfred thought he'd fall, but he didn't. He hovered a foot above the silk covers. His clothes melted away and he became naked.

"Y-You pervert!" He stammered, unable to crane his neck, but Ivan came into his vision, stepping onto the bed. He stood over him, naked and rock hard, licking his lips as his eyes molested Alfred. "Sick commie bastard!" he accused, "Is this what you dream about?"

"Da," Ivan answered as Alfred turned vertical and sunk onto his knees. His lips parted, pried open by unseen fingers. _Ghosts?_ He worried, fighting harder to get his body to do something. Anything.

"Lick it my Sunflower," Ivan urged, pressing the tip of his cock into Alfred's moist cavern. Alfred groaned, unable to form words now. To his horror, his tongue, as if pulled out, obeyed, tonguing the tip and lapping at Ivan's length. The Russian grunted with approval and slid in.

Alfred had control of his throat muscles for all the good that did him. He relaxed them as Ivan snarled his fingers through Alfred's hair, pushing him deeper onto his shaft. Thankfully, there was no gag sensation in this world. Ivan pumped in and out, slow at first, impaling himself to the hilt in Alfred's throat.

"Hmmm," Ivan hummed with satisfaction, "Good boy," he chuckled. Alfred scowled, really wanting to bite down.

Ivan's thrusts quickened and became a frenzy. With a "nngghh," he came hard in him, holding himself there until Alfred had choked down all of his seed. Even though Ivan tasted like peppermint, Alfred still cringed. He'd never liked the idea of swallowing cum and never would.

"Round one," Ivan said with a smile and pulled out. Mussing Alfred's hair along with brushing Nantucket with his hands, he said, "You like my taste, da?" Alfred's scowl deepened as he thought, _I really want to punch him_.

His eyes widened as he floated up, returning parallel to the bed, his face to the stone ceiling. His legs spread apart, his face flushing. _Just move, move dammit!_ He cried in his head, stunned when his leg shot forward, whamming Ivan in the gut. _Score!_ He thought, Ivan doubled over with an "oof".

_Again!_ He ordered his leg, but it wouldn't budge.

"Pet," Ivan warned, but there was a tinge of pain in it that made Alfred inwardly smirk. "You know better."

Manacles shot out of the wall and latched onto Alfred's ankles, yanking them painfully apart. His eyes teared up, but Ivan relented and they vanished.

"Nyet, pain is not the way to teach you," Ivan commented, his smile widening, "You are special. You are precious. You will crave me soon." He slid a finger into Alfred who tensed at the cold touch. Withdrawing it, he circled it around Alfred's tight hole before shoving it back in. Alfred's body convulsed with pleasure. There was no pain in this world unless Ivan wanted it.

The air thickened around Alfred. Suddenly, he was being caressed all over by ghostly hands that stroked him and tugged at Nantucket. Invisible tongues delved into his ears. So amazing were the sensations that his mind became lost in a pleasured haze.

A moan burst out of his lips and Ivan bent over him, thrusting his tongue in, tasting every inch of his mouth in a smoldering kiss. Alfred's toes curled with pleasure and Ivan expanded to three fingers. He joined in Ivan's kiss, needy and wanton for more.

He was dizzy with ecstasy and lust. His whole body red-hot. He hadn't even noticed he was hard until he came, his seed spurting up higher than possible in the real world, it covered Ivan's chest in ribbons of white, a little dropped onto him.

"I...Ivan," he gasped when the Russian removed his fingers. He needed more, his member already stiffening again.

"You love it, da?" Ivan whispered with a grin as Alfred floated up into the perfect position to the Russian's length.

"Y-yes," he said, wanting to turn his head side to side. So overwhelmed. It felt so wonderful. His mind was spinning with lust. He sucked in sharply and sighed with joy as Ivan shoved his mass into him. "Ivan!" He moaned and mewled, barely aware of how he was acting, so intoxicated with it all.

Ivan moved in and out, Alfred's cock now throbbed as Ivan hit his sweet spot, again and again. Alfred remained floating in the air, but he was pushed into a sitting position against Ivan's chest. The Russian's hands joined the invisible ones in roving Alfred's body.

Alfred found his arms and head could move now, but he only used this to taste Ivan's skin with his fingers, desperate for relief. Ivan kissed, sucked, and bit his shoulders, and so did those ghostly lips, but it wasn't enough. Even touching his every crevice, it wasn't enough.

He sent his tongue deep into Ivan's mouth, twining with the man's, almost a silent plea to free him from this. Nantucket was abused like never before by those unseen fingers. Orgasm after orgasm racked his body. Cum splattered out of between him and Ivan, some shooting high enough to hit his glasses.

Yet no sooner would one climax finish then the next would start as Ivan fucked him silly. Soon they rose up, floating several feet above the bed and he clung to Ivan like a man lost at sea clings to a log. Alfred was lost, worried he really might never wake from his dream.

"P-please," He begged, about to pass out. Ivan's hand went behind his head, pushing him deeper against the man's mouth. He whined into Ivan as the Russian's tempo became wild and he came fiercely, an unnatural amount of cum squirting out, it overflowed and dripped out of Alfred.

Ivan pulled out, more spilling out as he covered Alfred's torso and even his mouth in it. Alfred, too far gone, smiled and licked it off his lips, his glasses fogged up. For a moment, he breathed heavily, wondering if it was over, but Ivan turned him over, to face the bed.

"What're y-," Ivan cut him off, slamming into him from behind. Those eerie ministrations returned with a vengeance. A second Ivan appeared in front of Alfred, equally hard, and forced his erection into Alfred's mouth.

_This dream world is insane_, a distant part of Alfred thought as he deep-throated Ivan while the other one pounded into his butt.

His stomach arched forward, his butt going higher against Ivan's dick. From the corner of his vision, he saw a third Ivan appear diagonal to him. This one sank onto his dick and rode him. He groaned as he slid into Ivan's heat, distantly recalling the last time that happened. He is fucking Ivan while being fucked in the butt and mouth by Ivan.

Later he knows he will wonder, _How is this possible?_ But now all he can't think about are his blown senses as he is forced into world-shattering climax after world-shattering climax until he finally passed out.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

He woke in the dream, not dwelling on the irony of that, and found he is not only covered in cum and the scent of Ivan, but he is on the bed, laying against the man's chest.

He wanted to punch him, but his body was too exhausted. _"_You sick fuck," he managed, completely perturbed by what just happened and how, deep down, he hoped it will happen again.

"You loved it," Ivan stated. His eyes are drawn past Ivan to the balcony. The moon has now disappeared halfway below it. _That's strange_, he thought, wondering why it was still visible like the world was moving around it and not vice-versa.

"Where are you my love? In Canada?" Ivan asked, their noses touching.

It came into his head before he could stop it. The image of his location and he hears the Sunflower piece scoot across the map. Trying to flood his mind with other thoughts he realized from Ivan's wide grin that it was too late.

_He knows_, he thought, screaming, "No!" To his shock, his body sat up, but Ivan snaked an arm around his waist and pulled him back down. "NO!" He cried again. "Get off me you motherfucking commie asshole!" He shrieked as he Ivan climbed on top of him shoving his wrists over his head and holding him there. He kept yelling at him.

"Another round?" Ivan offered, pinning Alfred's wrists with one hand while the other jammed four fingers into Alfred's hole. Alfred's muscles turned to jelly as they find his sweet spot and ecstasy jolted through him. His mind was getting cloudy.

"Ah, no more time," Ivan sighed, removing his fingers. Alfred weakly followed his gaze to the balcony. The moon is all but gone. "I will find you soon," He said, and in a dark voice warned, "Until then. Remember that," His fingers settled on Alfred's chest, "you are _mine_," they raked across his chest, drawing blood.

Alfred screamed and woke, thrashing in the real world, his mouth silently continuing the scream. His throat was dry and hoarse. He laid there for a moment, staring at the starry sky. There was no sign of the moon. _It must have set_, he finally thought, the nightmare slowly fading.

He reached under his shirt, but found nothing. His hands went under his pants. Also nothing. No sign. No stickiness. It's as if nothing happened, but he knew better.

_That was no dream_, he told himself, the pain of Ivan's non-existent scratch marks still lingering on his chest. There was something more horrific though than the fact that Ivan had just invaded his mind.

_He knows where I am_, Alfred thought, instinctively grabbing his hunting knife.

(**END OF CHAPTER 3**. Ivan is now invading Alfred's dreams? Next chapter will be a little short. Join the adventure in **Chapter 4: Dane Cook)**

(Okay small confession. I got a little lazy toward the end with my writing. Bleh! But I thought it was adequate. Also nerves got rattled with the freaky-as-hell-earthquake alarm going off on my phone! Honestly Japanese Phone companies the Darth Vader theme song is less ominous than this sucker.

Plus the damn thing goes off usually DURING the earthquake or a second before which HARDLY does any good. And ever since the Big One last March, Japanese phone companies thought it was a great idea to make the alarms impossible to turn off. So every Earthquake I have to listen to an alarm that's about as calming as a blood-curdling scream and about as useful as a life-preserver in the desert.

Thank you phone companies! Without your alarm I would have no way of knowing the earth was moving under my feet. I would be stumped as to why I was trying to hold up my TV. I would think it was a passing truck!

Grr... sorry for that rant. Anyhow hope you enjoyed the smut. :)


	4. Dane Cook

Chapter Four  
>Dane Cook<p>

(Sorry if this is a little dull. I experimented with my writing. I hope you don't mind. Because I experimented here. Feedback for this chapter would be especially welcomed. Not that I don't always love your reviews, but this time I'd really love it.)

Dane Cook, as he called himself now, sat on the foot of his bed in what had been his bedroom back in Iceland. He was facing mirrors. Ever angle and corner were occupied by one, all in a multitude of shapes and sizes.

This is a dream, he thought. It was one he had been having for nearly two years, and though he knew this, he could not recall how it ended. It would unfold for him like a slowly unrolling spool of silk. A mixture of fiction and memory.

He contemplated the room. His queen-sized bed with its neatly made cream-colored sheets embroidered with flowers made of gold thread. Its soft brown canopy and everything else here, all either brown or off-white. His favorite colors. Even the rug was cream-colored.

A milky-white glow to his right drew his eye to a large, round mirror that hung near the room's oak door. "What's wrong with your face?" It inquired. The voice belonged to his older brother. In a blink, he was immersed in the memory. Seven again, he stood in front of his older brother who had just asked him that.

"I don't know," he answered, his older brother oblivious to the angst he'd set off in Dane's heart. Until that moment, Dane had lived in ignorance. Ignorance of why people looked at him funny, of why they seemed disturbed by him, but most of all, of one cold truth that was splashed in his face by that innocent question. The terrifying realization that he was different.

Before then, Dane had pictured himself like a volcano, his emotions being molten lava that threatened to erupt at any moment. Since his feelings were so obvious to him he had always assumed they were to others. How could they not see his volatile and passionate nature? But on that day, he was expelled from his fantasy like a heretic from a church. Forced to face that he wasn't a volcano at all and his feelings were not visible to anyone. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He was a pool of magma hidden underground, utterly invisible, except for the occasional puff of steam that might escape from a crack in the soil. All the heat and passion of his heart was trapped behind an impassive, snow-white mask of frozen features. One that, no matter what he felt inside, never cracked. Never portrayed an ounce of all he felt.

The memory ended and once more he was on the bed. Another mirror shimmered and took him to a day after his eighth birthday when he learned the price of his curse. His aunt in Iceland needed an heir. So his parents selected him.

It's because of my face, he thought. His final night in Norway was spent, sick with sorrow, snuggled beside his brother. Despite his sadness, not a single tear welled in his eyes. His wall of ice remained firm even in the morning when he entered the carriage.

"I'll miss you!" His brother called. Dane leaned out the window, his nanny protesting, and called back, "I'll miss you, too!"

His words did not have the intended effect. They were as dead and devoid of affection as his features. It was like he'd slapped his brother's face for the shock and hurt they produced. Dane sat back in his seat, unable to face those blue eyes anymore, crushed that his brother thought Dane didn't care.

Soon after arriving in Iceland, he stole a silver hand mirror from his aunt's bedroom and spent the night hunched over his desk until his candle burned out, training his face to behave normally.

"Smile," he ordered it. He filled his mind with wonderful thoughts like licorice, hot springs, and his new best friend, a gift from his aunt, Mr. Puffin. Yet no matter how happy these thoughts made him, his face remained empty. He forced a smile, but it was unnatural and eerie like a certain Russian Lord's grin.

Other emotions were explored, but nothing worked. Eventually, he learned to fake them. If he did small facial twitches, it appeared natural enough. It worked and people, including his aunt, relaxed around him. He turned from a queer child to a shy and reserved one. None were aware of the sheer concentration each of those facial ticks took.

Still hope burned within him that one day his face would be like everyone else's. With each birthday and gift-giving holiday, he collected a new mirror as requested and found a new space for it his room until there were but a few bare spots left. His hope was to one day catch his face genuinely emoting.

Dreams don't come true, he thought, returned to the edge of the bed. A new mirror quickly engulfed him in a memory. This when he met his brother years later, but by then there relationship was strained. He remembered the joy beating in his heart and how determined he was to express it only to be stopped cold by his brother's lifeless face.

He must have been hurt, he thought that day, sure his curse had somehow spread to his brother. He felt so devastated. Within a blink he was back on the bed, a mirror gleamed to his left, but he kept his eyes ahead. In the corner of his vision, its silvery pool of glass shivered and trembled, demanding he look.

He refused.

"I trusted you," it said in a childish voice that was not his brother, but someone else. A monster of a man. One that chilled even his blood; the voice in the mirror giggled. "If you had only asked, I would have spared your brother. You were very foolish, da?" it taunted, but still he would not face it.

Crack.

It split, fissures raced down it, splintering it into dozens of pieces. They spread to other mirrors, spider-web cracks devoured their surfaces and at last remembering what was next, he covered his face with his arms. Shards exploded at him, lacerating his tender flesh, he screamed.

Even in his dream, his cry was lifeless.

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Dane's eyes opened to a dull, steel-grey sky. A fine mist was falling and he was damp all over. His breath was coming out in puffs. At some point last night, a front had moved in, though his "warm-blood" as he thought of it, had kept him comfortable.

His eyes spotted Mr. Puffin up on the log again, black feathers sprinkled with moisture, glaring at something. No doubt the American, he thought, wishing Mr. Puffin would let go of his grudge. His dear friend could be entirely too sensitive.

When will my face reflect my feelings? He wondered, sitting up, sure he'd have to poke the American with a stick again to wake him up. The man was positively frightening to get up. Not a morning person at all.

To his surprise, Alfonso was awake and sitting in front of their burned down fire, poking at the ash with a stick. He was dressed in a brown leather parka, the hood not on for some reason so his hair was wet, but what struck Dane the most was his face. It held a haunted air. His eyes were bloodshot and gazing at the fire like it were a black pit to nowhere that would drag him in at any moment.

"Trouble sleeping?" Dane inquired.

"You could say that," he responded, his voice listless. "I kept watch."

"I thought you said we did not need to in this area."

"I changed my mind," he answered, standing up and tossing the stick on the ground. "Let's get ready," he said, turning around, a little mud was caked on the bottom of his parka where he'd been sitting on it.

"You already packed," Dane noted as the American slung on his gigantic backpack.

"And made breakfast," he nodded toward a large rock that held a stale piece of bread and a tin bowl of beans. "Help yourself."

Dane was grateful his face didn't show his distaste. "Are you all right?" he asked, making his eyebrows draw downward in concern.

"Yeah," Alfonso replied, his voice heavy. "Just peachy-kin," he said, his brows furrowing and his gaze distant. "We should get you to Colorado State."

Something in those words made Dane pause, but he asked no further questions. He was ready in minutes thanks to the tight organization he kept his small bag under. Hungry, he had scarfed down the offered breakfast, offering some to Mr. Puffin who refused.

Wanting to get that gritty taste out of his mouth, he reached into his pack, sneaking a glance at the American who had his back to him, searching for something in his own pack.

Slipping a hand into the bottom, he found the tin can and popped it open one-handed pulling out a small piece of its precious content before shutting it once more. He retracted his hand and stuffed the licorice in his mouth, letting it melt on his tongue.

Oh Heaven, he thought, slipping Mr. Puffin a bit. The bird happily ate. Then it was on with the gloves and boots. He pulled out his own flimsy leather parka. Slipping it on, he thought sadly about how it would have once been a fine cloak, but now he settled for this.

That's right. I'm Dane Cook now, he thought, slinging his quiver and short bow over his left shoulder. He was a great shot. Even the American had been impressed with is accuracy and range.

"Ready?" The American asked. He nodded, Mr. Puffin taking his accustomed perch on Dane's head. The American quirked an eyebrow as usual and then they were off heading to the Rockies that tops making the horizon appear like a row of jagged, gnarled teeth. Somewhere in that direction they would reach the Yellowstone woods.

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Dane never thought he would miss the American's inane chatter and easy laugh, but silence was so unnatural to the man, that it made Dane uncomfortable. Dane had become accustomed to tuning it out like a white noise in the background.

Desperate to cheer up the American, he asked while they were resting against a large rock, "Tell me does this mean anything to you?" He traced a circle in the air with his forefingers.

"Uh, a circle?" The American answered wryly. Great sarcasm from an American, he thought.

"So you have never heard the phrase, draw a circle and that's the world?" He continued.

"No, should I have?" Alfred asked.

"Well that is the ancient sign of Hetalia."

"Hataili-what?"

Dane stared at him flatly, willing his eyebrow to twitch, "The ancient name of the world. We discussed this the other night."

"Oh yeah!" Alfred laughed, his face starting to brighten. "Yeah, I remember that! What about the circle?"

"It is the symbol!" Dane said, forcing annoyed inflection in his voice. "There are old songs that still sing it, draw a circle and that's the world."

"Woah, the ancient world was laaaaaammme," Alfred snickered. Dane would get him for that comment. Later, he told himself. Revenge was after all a dish best served ice-cold with a boiling hot middle so they never saw it coming. He grinned inside.

"Must you mock the old beliefs?"

"If they're laaaaaammmmeeee, then yes," he chimed, holding up a forefinger. Mission accomplished, Dane thought. The gloominess was quickly falling off the American. "That's not the symbol I'd choose."

I really shouldn't, he thought, but he did anyway, knowing what those eager eyes wanted. "Okay, what would you choose it?"

Alfred stood up and with his fingers drew an M in the air, answering, "The Golden Arches. That would be the badass symbol of the world."

"In what nightmare world did you...," he trailed off seeing the American's smile drop off like a stone plunking in a well and disappearing beneath it's inky surface. It does have to do with his dreams, he realized. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he smiled and sat up. "We should get going."

* * *

><p>The silence returned and hung over them like a guillotine ready to fall and slice their heads off at any moment. Dane's other attempts at conversation were never so successful as that first. Eventually though, the American's own cheery persona began to naturally return as if you just couldn't keep a good thing down.<p>

He still wasn't sleeping more than a couple hours at a time at night and then only because sheer exhaustion had dragged him into that, but he was improving. Dark circles were now a constant fixture under his eyes and Dane more than ever wanted to know what was bothering him.

Not because he cared, but he had the strangest feeling that it had to be something quite important if it had kept the American down in the dumps so long.

No sooner had the American's chatter returned then Dane wished it would go away again. "So you're pretty lucky you found a hero like me," he prattled, "because you'd be dead within a day. A little kid like you."

Dane was grateful for his hidden emotions. It made his revenge against the American so much easier and less obvious. Mr. Puffin ruffled his feather, shifting in his perch on Dane's head. Yes, yes, I know my friend. We'll get him later. Let's see drop a rock on his foot or... oh I know! He had a plan.

"I'm not kidding, dude. LIke there are grizzlies, and bears, and lions out here! Oh my!"

"Lions? I thought those live in Africa."

"Africa?" Alfonso said, confused, "Ooohhh, right!" he said, slamming a fist in his palm. "You'd know about that because that's by Iceland isn't it?"

Dane missed a step. "Please tell me that was a joke."

"About what?" He said, over his shoulder. A boulder, right on his head, Dane nodded to himself.

* * *

><p>"YEEEEOOOWWWCH!" Alfonso yelped, hopping on one foot and as he rubbed at his other booted one, dancing back and forth in front of the campfire. "Hey, dude, what's the deal?"<p>

"Hmmm?" Dane said, tilting his head. His face painted with innocent. "Oh sorry about that. I tripped." In the end he had settled for stamping on the American's foot. Hard.

"Like hell you were!" the American accused, jabbing a finger at him.

"I said I was sorry. What more do you want?" Dane said, walking over to the other side of the fire and sitting down where Mr. Puffin nuzzled his beak against his arm.

Alfonso sighed and shook his head, his face becoming unusually serious as he said, "We're only a day from Colorado State. If you keep heading West, you'll find it."

"Yes," Dane agreed.

"Think you can handle it from here?"

"What do you mean?" Dane said, startled, though it took him a moment to make his face reflect that.

"Well," Alfonso said, yawning. He did that often these days. "Not that it hasn't be a riot and all, but I've something I gotta do. By myself."

No, Dane thought. This wouldn't do. This would ruin the plan. "So you want to separate?" he stated, his tone reflecting hurt.

"I know, I know you're pretty attached to me. Hard not to be?" He mused. A frying pan, to the face, Dane contemplated. A stamped on foot was far less than this American deserved. "But I gotta take care of something."

"May I ask what?"

"Uh, it's kinda private," Alfonso answered, scratching at his temple nervously.

"I see. I could wait for you in Colorado State then," Dane offered.

"Nah, I think it'd be best if I was on my own," Alfonso said, grimly.

"Why? Is someone after you?" Bingo, he thought at the American's immediate reaction. The man stiffened like a boy caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar.

"No," he said innocently, brushing it off with a laugh. "What gives you that idea?"

"Just a hunch," Dane answered. "Does it have something to do with why you are refusing to sleep?"

Alfonso grew very still and then cleared his throat, looking away shyly, he asked, "So do you know much about dreaming-type stuff? LIke figuratively speaking and all, is," he cleared his throat again, "I mean would it be possible for someone to, you know, invade someone else's dreams?"

Dane was surprised, but the American was finally talking to him about it and he would not pass on this opportunity. "Are you referring to Dream Walking?"

"Dream what?" Alfred said, his gaze latching onto Dane, he leaned forward with unmistakable interest.

"Dream Walking," Dane continued, "It is a Wild Land's magic. The Western Kingdoms did little with it, but what little there is refer to a place called the Dreamscape."

"The Dreamscape?"

Truth be told, Dane knew almost nothing about it, but he knew enough to sound like he did. Cobbling together the bits and pieces he had heard, he said, "It is a place that lies around our world. Everyone at some point enters it. All our dreams exist there and for some, the Dream Walkers, it is possible to enter the dreams of others or pull them into other dreams."

"And there's nothing you can do about it?" Alfonso inquired nervously. "No way to fight back?"

Now Dane was very intrigued. "No, I have heard it is governed by the phases of the moon. The full moon being when a Dream Walker is strongest," he answered and that much he knew was true from what he knew.

"The full moon?" Alfonso breathed glancing up at the waning moon. He relaxed visibly. "So you can't be invaded except during that."

I have no idea, Dane thought, but he answered, "Yes. Of course not," it was making Alfonso feel better so he continued, "Also you should be careful of Ravens in your dreams." That was something else he had heard.

"Ravens?"

"Black birds."

"I know what they are, but why?"

"In dreams, they are never what they seem. They are special beings in that world and dangerous."

"Is there anyway to keep from dreaming?"

"Er... alcohol?" He said, shrugging. "It works for me." It did indeed.

"Aren't you a little young to drink?"

"Not in my land," Dane smiled, as Alfonso pulled two dead ferrets from a wool sack and tossed one to Dane who flinched a little.

"We better start fixing dinner," The American stated. Dane sighed, not liking what was next, but he was Dane Cook now and this how Dane Cook lived. He got his small hunting knife, more like a pear knife compared to the Americans, and set to work.

* * *

><p>He woke, the sound of shattering mirrors still ringing in his ears. Mr. Puffin was perched on Dane's stomach, staring off at what had to be the American. The air was again colder and even his nose was starting to numb. Winter was definitely on its way, but this felt like a natural one, not a magically-induced one.<p>

Rubbing at his eyes, he sat up, his neck a little stiff and was surprised to find the American gone. He jumped to his feet, Mr. Puffin hopped to the ground. The American's sleeping bag, everything was gone.

"Where did he go?" He asked Mr. Puffin who looked away, embarrassed. It wasn't easy to slip past Mr. Puffin. That American can be quiet when he wants to be, Dane thought, noticing a rock where the American had laid down. A piece of paper was fluttering in the cold, damp wind.

Putting on his boots, not bothering with the laces, he hobbled over to it and picked it up, unfolding it. He cocked an eyebrow at the chicken scratch the American called handwriting:

Deer bird dude,

Et wus fun! Had two goh! Take kare!

Yer pawl,

Owlfawnso F. Jonaws.

"This...is...," he trailed off as Mr. Puffin took his place on the boy's head, looking down at the note with him. "The most atrocious spelling ever!" He said. Mr. Puffin squawked in agreement. "Do we need him?"

Mr. Puffin squawked in agreement.

"Then we follow?"

Mr. Puffin agreed again.

"Can you track him?"

Mr. Puffin said, "Yes" again.

"Then lead the way." Shortly afterwards, they were off.

(END OF CHAPTER FOUR. Alfred arrives a small farm. But who is this loud, rambunctious family? Could it be the Jones Clan? Find out in Chapter 5: Meet the Jones!)


	5. Meet the Jones!

**Chapter 5: Meet the Jones!**

(First of all thank you all my wonderful reviewers, but I want to especially thank Vyke95 his very detailed critique. This chapter may not appeal to some. So I cut out a lot of interactions to get through the stuff with the Jones family. I'll post a little character synopsis afterwards for people interested in knowing more about them and how they came together. )

(Sorry this is unbeta'd. There may be mistakes. Thanks for pointing them out. I'll try to fix them when I can.)

It was almost noon when Alfred arrived at a small farm house that sat on a gradual incline. The house itself had peeling layers of eggshell-paint over itself and its many attached rooms. Nearby was a red barn, a metal silo for grain, a chicken coop, and several other small, outlying buildings all wrapped within a complex maze of white fencing that kept the animals like the goats and pigs in their respective areas.

_Just like I remembered it_, he thought, grinning, as he unlatched the outer wooden gate and shut it, striding down the muddy path. He was just through the second gate when one of the barn's double doors opened and a girl with honey-blonde pigtails tied off by blue ribbons stepped out of it, carrying a wooden bucket. She was dressed in a grey pinafore with a cotton blouse underneath, her sleeves were rolled up above her elbows. Her outfit, much like her person, was spotted with mud and grass stains.

Stifling a yawn, she dropped the milk bucket when she saw him. "Crap!" she cursed, picking it up, but half the milk had already sloshed out. Setting down it down, she gaped at him.

"Hey Delly!" He waved, beaming at her. Rubbing at her eyes, she blinked several times, joy infusing her every features, she said, "Allie?"

He frowned. "I told you not to called me that."

"ALLIE!" She yelled, charging at him, her dimples deepening as she grinned, and threw herself against his chest, hugging him fiercely. He laughed, spinning her around once. "OH MY GOSH! YOU'RE BACK!"

"What's goi...," a small voice trailed. Alfred paused to grin at a small boy, Hammie, no older than ten, who exited the barn with two buckets. He was a bit pudgy, or big-boned as their Ma put it, and wore black, round glasses thicker than Alfred's. Everyone had scrimped and saved for months so that Hammie could get that pair. He treated them with reverence.

"Hey Hammie," Alfred chirped. "What's up?" Hammie almost dropped the buckets too, but managed to put them down, a little milk sloshing out.

"Alfred?"

"The one and only!" He answered.

"Alfred!" Hammie cried, running over, he joined in Delly's hugging. "You're back!"

Soon faces were peaking out of windows from the second floor to the first floor of the farm house and from the chicken coop and all over, calling, "Alfred? Alfie? Al?" One voice though, Jersey's, topped all of them as he blared, "EVERYONE! AL'S BACK!"

Screen doors, gates, and even window frames were shoved open as kids and teens ran from every corner of the farm until Alfred was surrounded by eleven in total of different heights and age, but all not older than Connie, who was fifteen. Carol and Ina, the Irish twins, a boy and girl, were ten and eight, were there. There was Virgi and Nia, thirteen and fourteen, blonde-haired sisters. Rhodes and Yorkie who were italian and also brothers of different age. Jersey, the loudest, was nine with a mass of curly brown locks on his head and large splash of freckles over his cheeks and nose. And, of course, there was DC, the youngest of the boys at six.

_All but Mary L and Penny are here_, Alfred thought sadly as they peppered him with questions. Feeling a pang of regret as the unpleasant memory of Mary L sobbing in a dusty town street.

"My gosh, Allie, where have you been?" Delly asked trying to outshout the cacophony of voices all now clamoring to be heard.

"It's not Allie!" he said, but even he was drowned out. "Guys, guys!" he said, they simmered down, "Cool it! One at a time!" They settled down. Not an easy thing to do in the Jones house.

It lasted all of ten seconds before they came back, saying things like, "I can't believe you left like that! Everyone's been worried sick! Ma and Pa were beside themselves!" They said, Carol piping, "Yeah, Jersey said you'd run off to Africa and become a mermaid!"

"I did not!" Jersey protested.

"Did too!" Carol insisted.

"Liar!" Jersey snarled, pouncing on him, they were soon rolling on the ground, hitting each other. Alfred started to push through, but Rhodes and Yorkie pulled them apart.

"Enough you two!" Rhodes snapped.

"He started it!" Jersey accused, pointing at Carol who stuck out his tongue.

"Guys! You know what Papa said," Connie said, flicking her long, black hair over her shoulder, "While Pa's away you promised you'd behave."

"Pa's away?" Alfred gasped.

"Don't you know?" Delly said, "He went searching for you. Rumor had it you went to New Mexico." His eyes widened. _New Mexico? Of all the places why there?_ He wondered.

The screen door of the farm house slapped open and everyone quieted, facing a woman who stood in the doorway. Her thick grey hair was tied back in a long braid that fell to her plump waist. She held a wooden spoon that she was tapping against her shoulder, an unreadable look on her face. She wore a cornflower blue dress with a white apron.

"Ma," Alfred called awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm... I'm home."

"I can see that," she answered, staring him up and down ruefully. Mary L. peaked out behind her. Mary L had a tuft of bright blond hair and fervent amber eyes.

"Ma, I...," Alfred trailed off, lowering his eyes,

"Well," she said, "Ya just gonna stand thar' catchin' flies with yer' trap or ya gonna get bathed and hav' lunch with us?" He looked up, a hopeful smile spreading on across his features as she smiled back, the crow's feet crinkling around her warm, brown eyes.

"Yes, Ma," he said, stepping forward.

"Uh-uh," she tutted waving her spoon to the side of the house, "Bath first. I can tell even from 'ere you need one."

"Right away Ma," he replied, blushing a little, as she nodded and went back inside.

"Thanks Ma! You're the best!" The other kids hooted and hollered, shooting her the thumbs up before Delly, Jersey, and Hammie led Alfred around the back of the house toward the little creek that was thirty feet off.

"Here let me take that," Yorkie said, easing Alfred out of his backpack. "Cripes!" He shouted, realizing the weight. It took Rhodes and Jersey's help to lug it inside the house.

"What the hell you packin' in here? Bricks?" One of them, sounded like Jersey, called. He heard a door shut.

At the creek, he tugged off his boots and winced at the foul smell of his socks as he peeled them off.

"Good Lord, Allie," Delly said, he shot her a frown, but she ignored it, pinching her nose as he chucked his socks away, "Is that some new weapon you're making? Coz it's sure powerful."

"Well it's not easy to wash clothes out in the wild," he answered. Connie came running down toward them, a basket of towels and clean clothes in her hands. He dipped a toe in the icy water, shivering. "Geez, it's freezing."

"Quit you're bellyaching, you wuss," Delly said, crossing her arm, she leaned against a tree. He stared at her expectantly. "What?" She asked.

"No offense, Delly, but a little privacy would be nice," he said just as Connie arrived and set the basket on the large rock he was seated on.

"I've got six brothers," Delly replied, "You ain't got nothing I haven't seen."

He gaped at her.

"Delware D. Jones!" Connie muttered, grabbing, Delly by the pigtail who yelped, "Hey lay-off." Connie pulled her toward the house, calling, "Sorry about that Al, we were just leaving."

"Hey no fair!" Delly said, trying to pry Connie's hands off, but was tugged along even harder.

"You are not watching your brother bathe. That is so icky!" Connie said and that was the last thing he heard before they were out of range.

"Need anything else?" Hammie inquired, wiping off his glasses with his dark green sweater vest.

"Nah, just keep watch and hand me stuff. I won't be long," he answered, stripping off his clothes.

"Sure thing."

"Yikes! It cold," he whimpered, stepping in, he hugged himself. _Okay the warm bathes of the castle rocked_, he admitted.

"Well, it is pretty much winter."

"Just hand me the soap."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

When he came into the house, Hammie disappearing off to the garden with his dirty laundry, he was clean and dressed in brown pants, a long-sleeve cotton shirt, and of course, his bomber jacket. Despite their warmth, his teeth were still chattering. He was no sooner inside, then someone grabbed his arm and yanked him aside into a closet.

"Okay guys," he said, realizing it was Yorkie and Rhodes, "Can I please come out of the closet? This isn't funny."

"Al, we're saving you," Rhodes whispered.

"From what?" He said, having to crouch because of all the coats and junk crammed onto the upper shelf.

"From the girls," Yorkie warned, holding himself with that sophisticated air he was trying to master.

"What?" He said, raising an eyebrow.

"Al, no joke," Rhodes said in a hushed voice, leaning forward, "Virgi and Nia are going to attack you and show you their poetry and song lyrics. Connie's already getting out her fashion design book."

"So?" Alfred shrugged, "I like seeing Connie's designs just as much as I enjoy Virgi and Nia's stuff."

Rhodes gasped and Yorkie shook his head, muttering, "He's a lost cause."

"You guys," Alfred grumbled.

"Al, think of your masculinity. Maybe Delly is right calling you Allie," Rhodes said. Alfred rolled his eyes, glad it was too dim for them to see it.

"Well, I kind of like Nia's songs too," Yorkie admitted.

"Yeah, but you already have a girlie name," Rhodes pointed out.

Yorkie sniffed, offended.

"Guys, that's it! I'm coming out of the closet," Alfred said, his stomach grumbling, "I'm starving." And with that he left.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Alfred was indeed whisked around as everyone wanted to show them all the things they'd been up to. When lunch time finally came around, their want of his attention didn't lessen in the least. In fact, it broke into all out war.

"But Al's sitting next to me!" Jersey yelled.

"No he's not!" Carol and Ina snapped, "He's sitting between us! We got dibs!"

"Did not!" Jersey and DC yelled. "We got double dibs!"

"There's no such thing!"

"There is too!"

And once more there was a tangle of fighting kids on the floor until they were pulled apart by the older ones and their Ma snapped, "Al's not sitting with any of you. He's sitting at the head of the table because he's our guest tonight!" She planted two fists on her hips and gave them all that "No argument" expression.

"But Ma!" They whined, "He's not a guest!"

"No buts! To yours seats!"

They sulked, but shuffled over.

"DC!" She warned, "You know you're not to sit across from Jersey."

"But I'll be good this time," he said, giving her a toothy grin.

She shook her head, "Tonight its peas and I know how you two love catapulting them at each other with your spoons. Towards the other end," she waved.

DC gave her puppy dog eyes but sat several seats away from Jersey.

When they were all seated, Ma on one side of Alfred, Connie on the other and Delly next to Ma, and it continued the oldest down, only broken by DC and Jersey being seated apart. Their Ma lead them in grace before the Jones favorite tradition began: the shoveling of the food into your face as fast as possible.

Only Connie, Yorki, and Ma refused to take part in this. For the rest though there was only chomping and scarfing sounds. "You know," Connie said, throwing Delly a sour look, "Food tastes better when you don't inhale it."

Delly scowled, eating messier and louder. Connie sniffed, turning to Alfred as she cut up her sweet potatoes into dainty bites. Blushing a little, he tried to slow his eating down, but it was hard. _So good_, he thought, swallowing hard. _Wish Ma had made hamburgers tonight though_, he thought with regret.

"So Alfred," Connie began, smiling primly, as she straightened the rose pink dress she was wearing, "Did you meet any _eligible_ bachelors?"

He nearly choked on his potatoes. _What did she mean?_ He wondered, but Delly interrupted, snorting as she gulped down her food with some milk, "Good Lord!" she said, "He's not even home a day and you're trying get him to set you up!"

"There's no harm in asking," Connie said, adding, "Unlike some people I don't plan on living here forever."

"Who said I'd stay here forever?" Delly demanded, "I've got big plans!"

"Such as?" Connie asked, quirking skeptical eyebrow.

"Joining the circus!"

Connie started and then laughed, "Tell me you're joking!"

"Let's not argue at the table," Ma suggested, but Delly continued.

"About what?" Delly inquired.

"The circus?" Connie said, "That's not an ambition!"

"It's a ton better than yours of _Oh, I'm going to marry a rich man_," Delly said, clasping her arms together and saying the last part in a high pitch as she fluttered her eyelashes.

"At least I can get married unlike _someone_."

"Well good for you! Because guess what, I ain't ever gettin' married," Delly declared, "Not unless I get to be the husband."

"You can't be the husband! That's nut! You're a girl. Mama, tell her she can't be."

"Please stop fighting at the table," their Ma insisted.

"I can too!" Delly snapped, "He'll be my man-wife!"

Alfred continued eating, hoping they wouldn't ask for his opinion.

"Oh please! God, you're so ridiculous!" Connie muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Connecticut H. Jones!" Ma snapped and Connie blinked, "You will not use the Lord's name in vain at this table! Are we clear?"

"Yes Mama," she said, lowering her eyes, throwing a small glare at Delly. "Crystal."

"And Delware," Ma continued, "I'd appreciate it if you kept your arguing with your sister in private."

"Yeah, Ma," Delly agreed.

"There, now that that is over, I'll get the rolls out of the oven," Ma said, standing up, her chair scooted out and she headed for the kitchen. Connie, Virgi, and Nia followed behind her saying they would help.

Delly stuck her tongue out to Connie's retreating backside. Then she turned to Alfred, smiling and Alfred just knew what was coming. A new source of contention as she asked, "So Allie," he narrowed his eyes, "You're staying in me, Hammie, and Jersey's room tonight, right?"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"That is it!" Ma snapped, setting the rolls on a heating pad on the table, she threw her oven mittens on the seat of her chair, announcing, "Alfred will not be sleeping in anyone's room tonight!" That stopped the fight.

DC and Jersey stopped yanking on each other's hair. Carol and stopped trying to punch at Hammie while Delly, Rhodes, and Yorkie stopped yelling at each other. Now they were allies fighting for a common cause as they whined, "But Ma!"

"No buts!" She snapped, putting her hands square on her hips, "He's staying in the guest bedroom and getting some shut eye!"

_Thank you Ma_, he thought.

"But he's not a guest," Delly pouted, returning to her seat with the others.

"It's final," Ma said, sitting down, "Now everyone finish your lunch. We've got chores to do." Everyone ate in silence for about four minutes. A Jones family record before Jersey broke it, asking, "So Al, why did you leave?"

Alfred stiffened and Ma gave Jersey a warning look that he ignored.

"I heard it was because of Rhandy Thomas," DC chimed in, "Coz you punched out his lights."

"How come you punched out that jerk's lights?" Jersey asked. Alfred glanced at Mary L who was at the end of the table, Nia was helping her eat her peas, but she was smiling and happy. _Not like that day_, he thought as the memory came unbidden. The blood on his fists and Mary L sobbing in the streets as Rhandy lay curled up on the ground, clutching at his face, blood pooling underneath him. Mary L bawling louder and louder on the dirt street of Montana State. He shook his head.

"It doesn't matter," Connie said, "There is no reason to dwell on these pointless things."

"No Connie," Delly said, "Jersey's been kept in the dark long enough. He deserves to know why Rhandy got justice."

"That was hardly justi...," Connie trailed off, her eyes snapping to Alfred with a guilty look.

"After what that jerk did, it so _was_ justice," Delly replied.

"What did he do?" Jersey asked, leaning across the table. "I though he just threatened to break Al's glasses."

Alfred stopped eating, the fork halfway to his mouth, frozen there like he were watching everything happen in slow motion.

"Oh he did more than that," Delly said.

"Delly," Connie hissed and Ma threw Delly a look of _be quiet_.

"What did he do?" DC and Jersey both asked. "Why won't anyone tell us?"

"Because bad memories like that need no stirrin' up," Ma responded.

"Or because Rhandy Thomas called Allie a dirty, _goddam faggot_," Delly answered darkly.

Alfred's fork clattered onto the plate. Ma and Connie both shot to their feet, Ma yelling, "That _is _it_! Delware D. Jones _you go to your room this instant! You are done eatin'!"

"But what about chores?" Delly said, jumping to her feet and meeting their challenging eyes.

"You can do them in an hour, _all of them_, when you finish thinking about your behavior!"

"But what's wrong with sayin' it? That's what Rhandy said!"

"What's a faggot?" DC asked, Ma and Connie shot him such a look that he wilted in his chair.

"In this house, we don't use such foul language!" Ma responding, returning her gaze to Delly and pointing in the direction of the stairs.

"Fine!" Delly grumbled, "I wasn't hungry anyway!" She hurried out, glowering.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that," Ma said, turning to Alfred, "She's just gotten so stubborn these days like a mule."

"S'okay," he smiled, winking and giving Ma a thumbs up, "Delly meant no harm."

"So," Jersey piped, looking around, "Wanna play Jacks after?"

Almost everyone groaned.

"Learn to read the mood!" Connie hissed.

"What?" Jersey said, looking around in confusion as several people slapped a palm against their forehead.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The guest room was in the attic, the quietest place in the house if there was a quiet place at all. He opened his door to find Delly sitting indian-style on his bed, arms crossed, her face sour.

"I brought you a roll," he said, holding it up. Her face split into a grin as she ran over.

"Allie you're the best!" she said, but he held it out of reach.

"What did I say about my name?"

"Al," she muttered, blowing a stray hair out of her face. He smiled and handed it to her, she scarfed it down. _Some things never change_, he thought, shutting the door.

"So what's up?"

"The ceiling of course," she answered, her mouth still stuffed, she plopped back down on the quilted top of his bed.

"Har, har," he muttered, plopping down beside her and leaning back on his hands. "So what's up?"

"How could you do it?" She demanded, frowning up at him as she swallowed the roll, "How could you just take off like that and leave me alone with Connie?"

"You had Hammie."

"Pllleaaase," she drawled, rolling her eyes, "He's...he's my back-up, but you're my main dude! My _bestest_ bud and you abandoned me!"

"Sorry Delly, I just... things came up."

"And Connie!" she said, throwing up her hands and falling back on the bed, "What a nightmare! Once she became the oldest, she just _lorded_ it over everyone." Delly scrunched up her features into a prim expression, raising her pitch and waving a forefinger around, she said, "Now _Delware D. Jones_ don't you dare wear shorts under your skirt! Now _Delware D. Jones_ don't you dare climb that tree! Blah, blah, blah!" Delly finished, returning to her normal features, she crossed her arms. "Just who does she think she is? Miss-I-wanna-marry-a-rich-guy-so-I-don't-hafta-work-anymore! Makes me sick!"

"Connie's just being Connie," he said, smirking over his shoulder at Delly who sat up again.

"Yeah, well I wish she wouldn't be around me! She wants me to be a proper lady! Can you believe that? I haven't been a proper lady since I was born. Geez, Alli- Al why did you leave? It's sucked balls without you!"

"Delly!" He scolded. "Language!"

"Eh," she shrugged, continuing, "My point is, why'd you do it? Was it because you broke Rhandy's face? Coz, that jerk deserved it! What, threaten' your glasses and callin' you a faggot."

He winced. "I wish you wouldn't use that word."

"What? Faggot?" She asked, concerned, "Does it bother you?"

"Well, yeah."

"Why? It's just a word. It's your choice to let it bother you."

"It bothers me because it's my cool sister saying it and that makes me sad," he answered.

"So it really bothers you when I say it?" She asked. He nodded. Pursing her lips in thought, she said, "Then it's settled. From this day on, I'll never say it again before you or anyone else. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a thousands needles in my eyes."

"Thanks, Delly," he smiled, hugging her with one arm.

"Anything for my favoritest bro!" She chuckled, punching his shoulder. "Hey Al."

"What?"

"Are you gay?"

He almost slipped off the bed, blurting out as he stood up, "Who told you that?"

"S'okay if it's true. I'll love you all the same," she replied.

"Well... I...I...," he trailed off, scouring his mind for the perfect lie, grinning and holding up a forefinger, he chimed, "Of course, because I'm so _happy!_"

She lifted a brow and stared at him levelly. "No, not gonna work, Al."

"Boy and I thought I was direct," he laughed, rubbing the back of his head. "I don't know what to say. I'm...I'm kinda working things out still myself."

"Look you can be honest with me. I won't tell nobody. Besides I understand if you like guys. I like them too! So much I wish I was one. It's girls I can't stand! Or can't stand me," she mused. "Listen, if that was why! You didn't have to run away. Ma and Pa would understand."

"Maybe," he agreed, pacing a little, "But they'd still be disappointed. I love them too much to allow that."

"Oh come off it Al!" she huffed, "Sure they might be, but they'd get over it. They love you too much not too. Like we all do."

"I just can't," he said, "I can't let them down. They mean to much to me. How'd you figure it out anyway?"

"You can blame Rhandy Thomas for that."

"Why? He asked, sitting down, worry furrowing into his brow, "What did he do?"

"Funny you should ask that," she said, twirling her pigtail with her forefinger, "Coz, the week before he went after you, he came after Connie and me."

"_What?_" Alfred demanded, his hands curling into fists.

"Now just listen," she said, "So me and Connie were doing errands in town when up he came, swaggering like the dumbass he is. He goes up to Connie and waves around ten Montana dollars, asking her to come into the alley and give him a blowjob."

Alfred's left eye twitched. Delly scooted back unconsciously as waves of rage rolled off him. _I shoulda... I shoulda..._he snarled in his head, beyond pissed, but he didn't interrupt.

"At the time, being almost twelve and all, I didn't exactly know what that word meant, but I did _notice_ something was up because Connie paled and grabbed my hand, tightly. She steered us away from him. He followed, yelling about what a no-good, dirty _chink_ whore she was. Now _that_ got my attention. I went apeshit, pardon my french, and Connie had to hold me back as I screamed at him, 'Don't moan too loud tonight when your father _fucks_ you!'"

"You said that?" He gaped, his teeth clenching. He didn't regret anymore punching Rhandy out. His only regret was that Mary L had been there to see it that day. The way she had sobbed and flinched from him afterwards.

"Sure did," she piped, giving the thumbs up. He sighed, he he really shouldn't be proud of her for saying such things. "But Rhandy, being an ass, shouted back, 'The only one fucking boys around here is your faggot brother, Alfred!' Oh, I snapped and it took all of Connie's strength to keep me from kicking him in the balls!

On the way home, Connie made me swear to tell no one. You know how she is. Then at home, she went upstairs and asked to be left alone. I just knew she was crying and didn't want no one to see. You know how she hates cryin' in front of others."

"That _bastard_," Alfred muttered, shaking with anger. It was one thing to pick on him, but picking on his family? _He's lucky I held back at the last minute_, he thought.

"Long story, short, I asked Rhodes what _faggot_ meant. I knew from the way he said it, it was bad, but I didn't know why. Rhodes said it meant _homosexual_ and then I asked him what that meant. He said it meant people who like their own _gender_ and then I asked him what _gen..._," she trailed off at Alfred's arched eyebrow, continuing, "Anyhoo, that's how I figured it out. And like I said, Rhandy Thomas got his just desserts."

"Still even if he had it coming, it didn't make things better doin' it."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," she smirked, "he can eat again now, but he don't mouth off to no one no more," she chuckled and winked. "And sometimes, when I see him in the streets, I shout out, 'HEY ALFRED' and he turns white as a sheet and glances around in a panic before scowling at me and stomping off. I love doing that."

"Delly," he said, shaking his head, "You're awesome."

"I know, I know," she admitted, "But my point is, you needn't of run off if it was because you punched him and if it's because you may be gay, you needn't of run off for that either."

"I had my reasons."

She punched his shoulder, saying, "You know Al, if you wanted to, because we're not blood-related and all. I...I..." She blushed, finishing, "I could marry you."

His jaw dropped and again he was on his feet, spluttering, "But you're my sister!"

"Only by adoption! And you'd be a perfect man-wife!"

He frowned, denying, "I would not!"

"You so would! Think of it Al! You could have your boyfriends and I'd look the other way. It would be the perfect ruse. That way no one would say anything bad about you and you could stay with us!"

"Delly," he said, sitting beside her and pushing up his glasses, "You know it wouldn't work."

"It so would!" She insisted. "I just want you to stay!"

"I can't," he said, shaking his head.

"But Al!"

"Delly, promise me something," he said very seriously. "Promise me that you will never settle for that kind of relationship. It may sound like you're helping someone, but you're not. It will always hurt knowing your man-wife or whatever, doesn't love you like that."

"It wouldn't! I'd be fine with it if it was you!"

"Promise me, Delly."

She glowered, crossing her arms, and then at his continued stare, threw up her hands and said, "Fine! I promise," and with that she marched to the door. "I think I'd better get back to my room before they notice I'm not there," she said, pausing, she smirked, "Later, Allie." And she was gone.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Later as they were heading for dinner, Delly came up to Al and slung an arm around his waist, laughing, "Sure you don't want to be my man-wife? You'd look incredible in a wedding dress." At his horrified expression she threw her head back, laughing, "_Incredibly_ ridiculous that is!"

Just then the front door flew open and they stared at it to see a tall man in a worn, leather trench coat wearing a wide-brimmed cowboy hat. His face was unshaven. What caught Alfred's eyes though was the moving wool bag in the man's right hand with what sounded like a bird squawking in it and the white-haired man tucked under his left arm. A gag was around the boy's mouth. "Mmmmph" Dane cried, meeting Alfred's gaze.

"Dane?" Alfred gaped, looking up at the brown-eyed man. Alfred smiled sheepishly, saying, "Hey... Pa."

**(END OF CHAPTER** Sorry if this chapter didn't interest a few. I know it's really different from the rest of the story, but I wanted to give more of a background. Alfred's world, as you can see, is extremely different from the world he experienced in "The Canadian and the American". He was raised loved and adored by his adopted siblings. The idea of not being able to talk it out with people is very foreign to him, along with deception and intrigue of the court. The Noble's world was like an alien environment for him. Speaking of aliens, you might enjoy the next chapter. Something very shocking is on its way in **Chapter 6: The Dreamcatcher**)

(To be honest, I'm extremely nervous about this chapter I think it might turn off some readers. I hope not, but if it did I'm sorry. We'll get back to more exciting stuff starting at the end of next chapter. As for the way Delware speaks, yeah, I've been around some twelve year olds that would talk like that. Funny thing about that age, you aren't always aware of how severe your words are.)


	6. The Dreamcatcher

Chapter 6  
>The Dreamcatcher<p>

(Thanks prior reviewers and special thanks Miss Macabre Grey. Oh and thanks reviewer who corrected me on Delaware! :)

"...and that's why Dane didn't mean any harm, right Dane?" Alfred finished. Dane stood there, gag off and ropes untied, massaging his rope-burned wrists. Alfred lightly elbowed the boy. "Right, Dane?"

"Right," Dane answered, "No harm was intended. I apologize if I appeared to have any malicious purpose. I was merely trying to get a closer look to ensure I had the right farm."

Pa raised a skeptical eyebrow and rubbed at the end of his thick, brown mustache with his thumb and forefinger. He nodded and opened the woolen bag. Mr. Puffin shot out of it with indignant squawk and perched on Dane's head, glaring at the Jones' family, especially Pa.

"Good to see you home," Pa said to Alfred.

"You too, Pa," Alfred said with a weak smile, he swallowed a lump of guilt.

"I want to talk to you later," Pa told him, "But first I must speak with your Ma." Everyone parted for him as he walked down the hallway and turned right at the end, going into the kitchen. There was a moment of silence as their eyes slowly settled on Dane.

Dane blinked. They exploded into questions, crowding around him, Alfred was shoved against the wall by the rush of kids, especially the girls. To his annoyance, the older girls were crowing about how handsome Dane was.

"Everyone! Everyone!" Alfred tried, but was ignored. He slammed a fist into the wall, causing a crack as he shouted, "EVERYONE!" They fell silent, staring him and then the crack.

"Dude, chill out," said Jersey.

"Let's talk to him in there!" Alfred suggested in a calmer tone, he pointed toward the living room. They nodded. Dane was led, no, swept into the room by the tide of kids, Mr. Puffin hopped around his head like he stood on an island surrounded by an ocean of heads.

The questions didn't stop as Dane was seated on their old, green sofa that had several patches sewn into it and springs sticking out in a couple places on the seat.

"Whatever you do, don't sit in the center," Delly warned, "Or a spring will poke you in the butt." Dane inched more to the left, eyeing where she pointed.

"Delly! Don't be so crude!" Connie chided her, sitting down on Dane's right, "I'm sorry for her behavior. She's so uncouth."

Delly frowned, mouthing to Al, "What does uncouth mean?" He shrugged.

The sitting room was papered with cornflower blue wallpaper that was yellowing at the sides. There was chipped white trim where the wall met the floor and the ceiling. The pine floor was covered by a large floral rug of yellow and green, frayed at the edges. A fireplace sat on the wall to the left of the couch, on its mantel were knickknacks made by the Jones children from clay figurines to carved wooden toys.

To his growing dislike, Virgi and Nia sat to Dane's right. All the younger kids were around the man, cooing over him and complimenting him. Alfred shared a look with Yorkie and Rhodes who were of the same mind: We must protect our sisters! The three of them crossed their arms going into "protective mode", they glared at Dane.

Their dark looks deepened when Connie touched Dane's lapel, commenting, "Wow, this is nice fabric. You must be rich," Dane's face remained impassive, but Mr. Puffin's feathers puffed out.

"What makes you say that?" Dane inquired, eyes flickering to Alfred and the others. He raised his eyebrow slightly at their curled fists. In Alfred's opinion, and he knew Yorkie and Rhodes shared it with him, no man not willing to stand up to them was worth their sisters' hand.

"This fabric is high quality. Just look at the texturing," she answered, pointing out the stitch-work, Virgi and Nia nodded along with interest. Delly yawned. Alfred was about to work his way over and slide onto the couch between them when Mr. Puffin hopped onto Dane's shoulder, give a warning nip at Connie.

Rather than intimidate her, it had the opposite effect. "Oh well, aren't you just the cutest thing! Girls! Isn't he just beautiful?" Alfred couldn't believe it, Mr. Puffin, he swore from the slightly ajar beak, was gaping. "May I hold him?"

"Mr. Puffin doesn't like it whe-," Before he could finish, Mr. Puffin had thrown himself spread-eagle onto Connie's lap. Within moments, to Alfred's approval, Dane was all but forgotten as they girls crowded around Mr. Puffin, doting over him. The slight gape in Dane's mouth showed his shock and the slight crinkle in his brow, the man's disapproval.

"Dane, may I speak to you?" Alfred asked, waving for him to come over. Dane spared one more annoyed expression as the everyone continued cooing and awing over the bird who Alfred could tell was just eating it up.

Dane squeezed through, even the younger boys were more entranced by the bird now. The boy clearly wasn't used to it. Welcome to America. Alfred smiled smugly.

"That traitor," Dane breathed as Alfred led him back into the hallway.

"It happens," Alfred agreed.

"So Alfred," Dane said emphatically, "What do you need?"

"Why'dya follow me?" Alfred demanded.

"I was worried," Dane replied, curving his lip up in a small smile, "You seemed depressed. I had to make sure you were all right."

"How'd you slip past my incredible detection skills? Was it the bird?" He inquired.

"I have my ways," Dane responded smoothly.

"You used the bird," Alfred muttered, "That's like cheating!"

"According to what rules?" Dane said, his tone riddled with wry amusement.

"According to the heroic rules! Duh!" Alfred said, rolling his eyes. How could he not know those? Dane glanced toward the living room and when he looked back Alfred was leaning over him, whispering in breathy tone, "And one more thing Dane. Since you decided to visit, I'll warn you now of a rule you'd better follow." Dane's eyes widened as Alfred gripped his shoulder, squeezing painfully hard.

"What are you...?" The boy trailed at Alfred's expression.

"Leave my sisters alone," He hissed. Alfred like his brother's was well-trained on how to frighten off potential suitors. Jones boys were trained from day one to look out for their sisters. While they'd never actually harm anyway for just looking, they knew how to intimidate the threats into thinking they would. "Or else," he added, releasing Dane who rubbed at his shoulder. Brightening again, Alfred chirped with a grin, "See you at dinner!"

Alfred all but floated into the kitchen, proud he'd done his brotherly duty. He sniffed at the delicious aromas. Hamburgers, he grinned ear to ear. Without turning around, Ma pointed toward the side door that led outside and said, "Your Pa's out by the barn, putting up Lady Liberty."

Lady Liberty was his Pa's horse, one he'd let Alfred name for him. Alfred went outside and encountered his Pa midway between the house and the barn.

"Pa," Alfred said, his tone laced with guilt. His Pa's shoulders slumped and he turned toward the gate that led down to the creek.

"Follow me, Al," He called, waving for Alfred to come. They walked down to the tree and boulder where Alfred had cleaned himself earlier. Alfred glanced back. The house was off thirty feet, the living room windows lit with lantern light.

"Pa about leaving. I'm sor-"

"Don't apologize," his Pa interrupted, not turning around, he planted a booted foot on the boulder, keeping his back to Alfred. "You made your choice. Live with it."

Alfred gulped, digging the tip of his boot into the soft dirt. So many memories had been made here. He could remember several summers wading in the creek with the others, having splash wars or pulling clay off the creek bed to mold into figurines for the fireplace mantel.

"I," he said, his voice shaky, "heard you went looking for me."

Pa grunted. That meant "maybe" or "yes" in Pa Jone's language.

"I didn't mean to make you guys worry. I would have left a note if I... could have spelled better," he said, perking up he added, "But I've got awesome writing skills now. You'd be amazed."

"Al," his Pa slid in, "Why did you leave?" He turned around, his wide-brimmed hat, casting the upper half of his face in shadows. "Was it because of that Rhandy fellow?"

"Well, not entirely," he confessed, "It was a lot of things actually. I just... I don't know. I felt I needed to get away from everything. To clear my head. Become my own man."

"I see. And that had to be right then. Right before your birthday."

Alfred lowered his eyes. "Yes."

"You know what that day means for your mother."

Alfred nodded slowly and reluctantly.

"Where did you go?" His Pa asked. "I know it wasn't New Mexico."

"I went to a lot of places, but eventually I got a lead and I went to Canada," He explained.

"Where?"

"That Northern Kingdom. The really cold one."

"Ah, yes," His Pa said, nodding. "A lead to what?"

"A lead to...," He paused, the words bitter in his mouth, but he didn't know how else to word them, "My real family."

Pa tensed, asking, "Did you find them?" Alfred nodded and he gasped, "You did?" Those words seemed to sink into his Pa and the man smiled at him, happier than Al had ever seen him, "That's wonderful news! So your moth...," he trailed off at Alfred's shaking head.

"My brother," Alfred answered, "My twin brother."

Pa fell silent, stunned. The moon was rising up beyond him. In a handful of days it would be full again. "Twin?"

"Yes, Pa," Alfred said, rubbing the back of his head, his voice finally broke as he continued, "And I need your advice more than ever."

He let it pour from him.

* * *

><p>Alfred had mostly finished, leaving out the worst part, when Pa held up a palm and said in a low voice, "Keep talking."<p>

"About what?" he whispered.

"Hamburgers or something," and then his Pa ducked down, moving silently through the grass.

"MAN, HAMBURGERS ARE SO AWESOME!" Alfred declared loudly, watching his father move like a dark shadow through the grass. Alfred had already noticed them too. "LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THEM. THE CHEESE...," he went on about proper ketchup proportions and cheese flavors until he heard a sharp yelp and cry of "No fair!" from Jersey.

Alfred looked over his shoulder to see his Pa standing ten feet away, holding a kicking and flailing Jersey up by the collar. Jersey had what looked like grass tucked in his pants and a bush tied to his back.

"Show yourself everyone!" Pa ordered, "I know you're there. Rhodes, Yorkie, DC, and Delly."

Grass rustled in several spots and slowly four shapes stood up, bushes strapped to their backs and grass stuck in their clothing. They all grumbled.

"Dammit!" Delly whined, "You can't use your crazy hunting powers like that! It's not fair!" The others chimed in with agreement. "Allie?"

"C'mon Delly," Alfred said, pointing at the house. "This is a private conversation." She stuck her tongue out at him and stomped up toward the house.

"Back inside!" Pa said, setting Jersey down. "It's almost dinner time."

"Not fair," they grumbled, drudging up. Pa came back over to where Al was sitting on the boulder and they watched them go.

"Delly did pretty well. She got within six feet before I noticed her," Alfred commented. Pa nodded in agreement.

"She's getting as good as you," Pa noted, a smile ghosting the man's lips. Alfred could see it even in the dark.

"I wouldn't go too far with the praise," Alfred chuckled. "Though I did teach her a few tricks."

"You were saying." Alfred's grimaced at the reminder. The next part would be rough. The thing he needed to talk to his Pa the most about would mean revealing what he wanted to the least.

"Pa," he said, wetting his lips. "I...," his throat tightened. Why is it so hard? All his life he wanted to be like Pa, the thought that he couldn't be. That he wouldn't be no matter what he wanted was tearing him up. "I think I'm... different."

"In what regard?"

"In my choice of partners," He answered, unable to see his Pa's eyes through the shadows. "Relationship partners."

Pa was silent and then he asked, "Alfred, do you know Mrs. Delvich?"

Alfred blinked, caught off guard. What does she have to do with anything? "Uh, yes. I remember her."

"Describe her for me."

"Well, she has lovely almond-colored eyes. A pleasant face. She's very curvy with curly brown hair. She has a great smile like me. A very radiant person," he answered. "What about her?"

"Al," he sighed, "You just described what half the men in town and your own brothers consider the most desirable woman as 'radiant and curvy'."

"So?" He said, frowning, "I don't follow."

"Al, have you heard how your perverted," He grumbled the last word, "older brothers describe her? I'm not sure they've even noticed what color her eyes are."

Alfred shook his head, still confused.

"Al, by the time you were thirteen I noticed you were not taking an interest in woman or others the way a normal young man would. At first, I thought maybe you were just shy or reserved, but as you got older I began to wonder about your interests."

Alfred let those words sink in and then said, "So you're saying you knew I was gay?"

"Gay?" Pa choked on that a bit, but continued, "No, I didn't say that. I suspected something was different."

"Ah, geez," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair. "Everyone seemed to figure it out but me."

"You're gay?" His Pa asked bluntly. "As in homosexual?"

"I think so," Alfred said, "I'm not really sure. I never took an interest in anyone now that I think about it. At the time, I got worried since I couldn't find any women I was interested in. I finally found someone in Canada and well, things got real complicated."

"Sounds like it."

"Well, I didn't tell you all of that," he confessed, "I left out a deal I made. I was so stupid Pa. So stupid. And now it's all mucked up."

"What happened?"

"Well, kinda," he said, looking away, glad his father couldn't see his blush in this light. "It's complicated, but I'm not a...," he bit his lip, saying the last part in a low voice, "A virgin."

Pa went rigid. He peeked a look and saw from his Pa's body language the man was stunned.

"Out of marriage?"

Alfred nodded and then frowned, "Wait," he said, "You're upset about that?"

"Not upset, just surprised about both. Call me old-fashion, but I was raised a certain way," his Pa answered, "And that you did such a thing casually is surprising. Was this a one time thing?"

Alfred sucked in a breath and then explained about the whole situation. At some point he was aware of his Pa having to lean against the tree from shock. After he finished there was a really long pause.

"I'm sorry Pa. I didn't mean to disappoint you," he added, staring at the ground, not daring to look up.

His Pa finally spoke, saying in a shaken voice, "Al, you could never disappoint me."

"Then you're not mad?" Alfred said, looking up.

"If I was, what would it matter?" He replied, "Al, you're a grown man. It's your right to make your own decisions."

"But I don't want you to hate me."

"Al, I would never hate you. It's just a lot to digest. I would ask that you wait to break this to your mother. You know how her nerves are. It might be best if you let me slow ease her into the information," Pa suggested and Alfred nodded. "But if you're happy and you did what you thought was best, then who am I to say no? You are the way the Creator made you."

Alfred smiled, a warm happiness spreading through him. Something that had been so tight in his chest was relaxing and unknotting. "Thank you Pops. I've missed you so much."

"I missed you too," he said, and Alfred was on his feet, drawing the man into a hug. "No crushing the spine!" He pleaded and Alfred let go.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "You're seriously not pissed?"

"No, Al, I'm not. There is enough pain in this world without me adding to it. Tell me, is this why you ran away? Because you were afraid of disappointing me?"

Alfred had mulled over for a long time. There were so many small reasons that had been building. It was impossible to say just one. Only that the thing with Rhandy had been the catalyst for a decision he had already been brooding over for a while.

"No," he said finally, "I had a lot on my mind. Things just came to a head with what Rhandy said and what happened."  
>"I see," Pa said, changing the subject, he asked, "You said you went to the capital of Canada? You mean Ottowa?"<p>

Alfred snorted with laughter, slapping his thigh, "Good one Pops!" He laughed, "You know that joke too?"

"What joke?" Pa looked around sideways.

Alfred tapped his temple and pointed, "I see you. You got that Canadian humor down." Alfred's face grew more serious as he asked, "Anyhoo, I didn't come here just for your advice. I had another reason. Pops, I need to know about the day you found me."

His Pop's face clouded over with a dark expression. He gazed off toward the moon and said, "You already asked this. Remember when you were ten?"

"Pops, I don't want the kid's version anymore. I know you held back, but I need to know it all even if its ugly."

"It's not ugly," Pa confided, "But it's strange. There were strange things that summer day. I'm not sure you'll believe me. I hardly believe it myself."

"How so?"

"Let's just say. Finding you was no accident."


	7. The Dreamcatcher 2

Chapter 7

The Dreamcatcher Part 2

Alfred was sitting indian-style on the large rock by the creek, watching his Pa who was leaned against the tree. After a moment, his Pops finally began, "Al, when you camped with me, were we ever bothered?"

Alfred blinked a little. Not what I expected him to say. "Um, what do you mean?"

"Snakes in our bedding, spiders in our boots, maggots in our food. Those kinda things?" Pa clarified.

"No," he said, a little disgusted. Maggots?

"We were ever chased by grizzlies, boars, or anything?"

"No," Alfred replied, shaking his head in confusion. What does this have to do with finding me? "But bears and wolves sometimes came out to play with me." His father nearly slid down the tree, "What? I told you before."

"Still shocks me though," Pa answered, readjusting himself. "Do you remember how'd we'd sometime wake to find piles of herbs and berries?"

"Do I ever," Alfred chimed, adding, "Actually that happened a few days back to me and Dane. Man, was he surprised."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Why he was surprise? Because," He said, scratching at the back of his head, "It's not normal?"

His Pa nodded, "And have you wondered who left them?"

"Of course, but you said it was the animals."

"It was, but why Alfred? Why did they do that?"

"I don't know," He said furrowing his brow in thought. "They're super nice!" He answered, holding up a forefinger.

"Do you think it happens to others who travel in the Wildlands?"

"I don't know. Never really thought about that. I guess so."

"And you'd have guessed wrong."

Alfred frowned and mulled over that. "So what are you saying? It just happens to us?"

"To you. At least the offerings part. The Wildlands is special to you."

"Ha, so nature loves me?" He laughed, grinning ear to ear at the thought. "Why am I not surprised?"

Pa snorted, shaking his head, he continued, "Of all the places I've hunted, this area is the most dangerous. I'm the only one that hunts here anymore. The only who able to."

"That's just because you're the best!" He piped, beaming at his Pa and giving him the double-thumbs-up combo.

"I am skilled," He agreed, "But that's not why I succeed. You've never seen how brutal the Wildlands can be when one is not welcome."

Alfred tilted his head. What's he digging at? What's this got to do with finding me? "Welcome, like it chooses who can be here?"

"Yes."

"Is this another one of your Indian stories?" Alfred straightened, remembering something. That's right, the tribe Pa lived with was into Dreamwalking!

He opened his mouth to ask, but his Pa started again, "When I first came here, I never got a decent night's sleep. I got attacked daily by things from grizzlies to snakes to heaven knows what else. I almost gave up. It felt like the land had it in for me."

"Well maybe it was just bad luck. I don't think it was on purpose," Alfred said skeptically.

"It was," he stated, "And you know what changed that?" Alfred shrugged. "Finding you." Alfred pointed at himself. "After I found you and took you home to live with me and Ma, life in the Wildlands became easy and I've never had trouble sleeping or camping in it since."

"Why are you only pointing this out to me now?"

"Al, you were a very... let's say daring child. Your mom has more than a few gray hairs from your many exploits. Half the reason I took you camping with me at such a young age was to give her a break."

"Yeah, sorry about," he said sheepishly. "Guess I am kinda a risk-taker."

"Risk-taker is not the word for it," he said, carrying on, "So to answer your question. It didn't seem like a good idea to tell the kid who would play fetch with wolf-packs and go for piggy-back rides on grizzlies that the animals appear to worship you."

"Worship?" He repeated, his grinning widening. "Well, I was just going to say, you know it's me so can understand why the animals would adore me."

His Pa sighed, "To sum it all up. Just as I told you before I found you in a buffalo herd. You were spinning some of the babies and I was just stunned. Not only by your strength but how they never attacked you. As if you were one of them. Then you spotted me at the edge of the forest and ran over. That's about it."

"That's it?" He said disappointed. "No thunder and lightening? No sudden storms? Nothing?"

"Storms? No, it was a beautiful day."

"Dammit," he muttered, crossing his arms. Smack! Right into a dead-end, he thought.

"Though there was a big storm the night before," Pa added. Alfred leaned forward with interest. "It never came near where I was, but I saw it from a distance. Strange thing too, it just stayed over one area. Right over the woods. It grew and was really nasty, but went away within an hour. Does that help?"

Alfred nodded. So there was a storm. "And then you found me the next day? Was I near where the storm appeared?"

"Well, yeah. I found you at the edge of the Yellowstone Woods."

"Where exactly?"

"The areas huge Al. After I took you home, I tried to go back there to look for anyone else, but I couldn't quite figure out where exactly I had been. Things have a way of shifting here. The lay of the land is hard to remember especially near those woods," Alfred shuddered, "But if I had to take a guess. You were on the northern edge. A couple days off from Montana State."

"Was there a guy with huge-ass eyebrows around by any chance?" When he gestured for the eyebrows he held up his hands like he were holding a giant sausage in front of his face.

"No. Just you."

"Dangit," he grumbled. "This sucks. All leads go nowhere."

"But you found some answers," Pa pointed out, "From what you told me this... what was his name?"

"Mat...Mathilda I think."

"Isn't that girl's name?"

"Not in Canada?" Alfred said, holding up his palms.

"Anyhow, he said you were both found by a British King in the forest nearly twenty years ago. But I found you on July 4th, twelve years ago. So assuming you were the same Alfred, where were you for eight years? It doesn't add up."

"That's the problem. I don't know and I can't remember. It's all hazy. Even the day you found me I don't remember. I was just suddenly living with you and Ma. That as far back as I go and it's frustrating. It feels like the memories are there, but are locked up and no one has a key."

"Is that why you've come back? To explore that place?"

"Yeah."

"I've offered to take you there before, but you always said you'd do it yourself one day. I guess that day is near."

"Well, truth be told, I wanted to go, but people always said that place was haunted. With ghosts and such," he said, shivering. His Pops chuckled. "It's not funny! Ghosts are a legitimate fear! I just wanted to wait until I was a super-awesome Hero first, but I can't wait anymore."

"Are you going with that Dane fellow?"

"I don't know yet," he said, "Maybe. He followed me here. I have a feeling he doesn't want to go there alone either." Probably scared shitless of the ghosts. Poor guy.

"Should I come with you?" He offered. Alfred shook his head.

"Sorry Pa, but this is something I gotta do alone," he replied. The last thing Alfred wanted his Pa to see was his proud, heroic son practically bawling and screaming about ghosts. He kinda didn't want Dane to see it either, but Dane was a stranger who he didn't care all that much about impressing. "Gotta prove myself as a man," he lied.

"Oh, I almost forgot," his Pa said, digging around in his left pocket, he pulled something out and walked over, handing it to Alfred. "I got this for you in New Mexico. I was passing through this place called Roswell."

"For me? A present?" Alfred said excitedly, taking it. He held it up in the moonlight. It was small circle no bigger than his fist, with threading woven in a webbed pattern in the middle. Beads were were woven in the threading and off four strings that dangled from the bottom, they were tied off with feathers. Are those eagle feathers? They were small, but he liked eagles so that's what they'd be. "Thanks Pa! I always wanted a webbed donut!"

"It's a dreamcatcher," His pops corrected. "You know like the one I had in my bedroom before Rhodes accidentally set it on fire."

"Oh yeah," Alfred said, remember how much trouble Rhodes got in for that.

"Strange story behind it," Pa said, "I was just passing through when this vendor just called me by name. That got my attention and I asked if he knew me. He replied, 'Who hasn't heard of the famous, Mr. Jones? You are searching for something, yes'. I was about to walk off at this, but he said, 'A son? Your eldest'. I thought he was crazy, but he continued if I went home right away you'd be waiting for me and you'd need that."

"You came home because a strange guy, told you to?"

"It wasn't just that," He answered, "I took the Dreamcatcher just to get him to leave me alone. I was going to ignore his advice but then I had this strange dream and you know I listen to my dreams."

"Yeah, because your tribe believed in dreams and all."

"They believed in Dreamwalking, Al," He clarified.

"Yeah, whatever. But I need to ask you about that!" Alfred said, snapping his finger in a A-ha! motion.

"About what?"

"Dreams. So say this friend of mine, let's call him... uh... Alfonso," He said. Awesome cover! "Let's say he's been having these nightmare, 'cept they're not really nightmares. They're very real as if someone really is in them, doing stuff to mess with him."

"What kind of stuff?"

Alfred blushed, so thankful his father couldn't see it in this light. "Just stuff."

"Well, it depends are you saying your friends dreams are being invaded or he's being pulled into someone else's mind?"

"Uh, what's the difference?"

"The latter can only be done by a true Dreamwalker. My people," and by people, Alfred knew he meant the tribe his Pa had lived with, "told me there has not been a true dreamwalker for centuries. They themselves could only walk the dreams by use of the Peyote ceremony and it was very limited, but a True Dreamwalker can fully enter the Dreamworld with no sweat lodges or plants. They can drag a person into their dream and are the most dangerous."

"Yeah, but how would my friend know if it was that? And what would it matter?"

"It matters as to how your friend can deal with it," he replied, "If he's dealing with a real Dreamwalker then he is in great trouble. In that person's dream he is helpless, but if someone is merely invading his dreams then there is stuff he can do."

"Like what?"

"First off, he needs to remember it is his dream, his mind. That person is only an invader. The only power he might have over your friend is your friend believing he's helpless."

"So you're saying Alfonso can fight back?"

"Of course. That's why it's stupid to invade other's dreams. If your friend, Al's, dreams are being entered, the one doing it is being foolish."

"But Alfonso says he was helpless. He could nothing."

"He only thinks he can do nothing. He can do plenty. First off, he has to remember not try do things like he would in the real world. Don't move your arm, instead imagine your arm will move. You have to dream it first and then it will happen. It's very awkward and backwards, but once you master it, you're friend can easily toss the other out."

"Really?" He said, brightening at the thought that Ivan might not be impossible to fight off. Still he'd rather not face him that dream. "What about just keeping him out?"

"Again you need experience. You're friend is only helpless in his dream because he believes it so."

"And what if the other is a Dreamwalker?"

"Then your friend is helpless and he would need outside help."

"Like from who?"

"Well, like from a real Dreamwalker or from the Outsider."

"The who?"

"The Outsider? I told you some of this before!"

"Yeah, but I sorta slept through it."

"Your eyes were open."

"Pa," he laughed, "You know by now that doesn't always mean I'm awake."

His Pa groaned, glancing skyward, he shook his head. "The Outsider, or the Alien, as my people called him. He is the Master of the Dreamscape. They believe he was not of this world. He is the only one that can give someone the power for true dreamwalking. If someone else is trying to do it without his permission, from what I gather, he won't like that. He gets very jealous of his territory."

"How do you contact him?"

"I don't know. They had ceremonies in the sweat lodges to speak to him, but as far as I knew he never replied. I believe the way they referred to it was he'll contact you."

Alfred frowned, moving the dreamcatcher around in his hands. His thumb was just rubbing over the top when he felt a small jolt snap at his thumb. He glanced down, noticing something. Holding it closer, he squinted. "Hey Pa, there's something written on this."

"What?" He said, coming over to look at it. Alfred ran his thumb over it.

"Something's carved here. Wait, I got this," Alfred said, winking, "Awesome reading skills now. Let's see its T-O-N-Y." He frowned, asking, "Toe...nai? What's a Toe-nai?"

"It's Tony, Al," His Pa corrected. "Tony as in the name."

"Oh, gotcha," Alfred laughed, "But what's that doin' on my Dreamcatcher?"

"I didn't notice until now," Pa said, tilting his head, "Maybe it belonged to a previous owner. Rather obnoxious carving their name on it," he said, the annoyance evident in his voice. "If you don't want it."

"What? No! I love it!" He said, hastily stuffing it in his pocket, "I'm just curious who this Tony guy is."

Pa shrugged. Alfred's stomach interrupted them, growling, and they both shared a knowing look. "House?" He suggested and they both got up and headed for dinner.

Before they got inside his Pa asked one final question, "Are you leaving tomorrow?"

"Bright and early," Alfred answered. He was far from Russia so it'd take time for Ivan to get here, but he still didn't want to stay in one place too long, especially not when it put his family in danger.

"Have breakfast before you leave."

"Wouldn't miss it."

"May I accompany you both at least until Eagle Rock?"

"That would be great," he said and then they were inside. His mouth all but salivating to the sweet smell of burgers. It was good to be home.

* * *

><p>Carlos hated America. Hated stupid Montana State. Land of Promise his ass. Maybe, it was just that he hadn't had his morning ice cream because the GODDAMN ICE BOX broke the night before, but everything this morning was pissing the fuck out of him.<p>

"Where the fuck is my ice cream?" He muttered again, wiping furiously at the shot glass he'd been polishing for the past hour. Even worse not a single goddamn customer had entered. Goddam Americans! He'd opened his coffee shop and bar, The Cuban Cigar as he named it, last month and had only had three customers that actually came in for something other than cigars.

Bastards! He grumbled, glaring at the wooden bar top. Couldn't Americans see how fucking brilliant his idea was? A coffee shop that sold tequila and ice cream. Who wouldn't want that? Carlos knew it made his morning!

"Fuck," he growled, again reminded of what was really pissing him off. Where's my goddam ice box? His partner, whom he called Paraguay because the bastard didn't deserve a name right now, was fucking late. It was late morning and he still hadn't shown up with Carlos' replacement ice box which meant: NO FUCKING ICE CREAM. He'd sent the bastard off yesterday to fetch it from Denver.

"It's only half a fucking day away!" He cursed. "The asshole should have been back by now! Fucking Paraguay!"

And goddammit did he needed his morning ice cream! He could be a great guy. Super nice, but when he didn't have it, even he'd admit, he could be a son of a bitch.

Carlos was wearing a green shirt and shorts. He had on sandals because screw winter. He was Carlos. He didn't give a fuck if it was cold. His brown dreadlocks were tied back and he had a cigar clamped tightly in his lips. He wasn't smoking on it right now, just chewing on the end.

"Where's my fucking ice box you son of a bitch!" He grumbled, pacing back and forth as he wiped the shot glass. "I want my fucking ice cream!"

The world hates me! He knew it had to be true or he wouldn't be in this mess because his ice box would never have broken and then he'd be enjoying some goddam delicious ice cream instead of standing here stewing over no customers and no ice cream!

The door slammed open, sunshine spilling in, his eyes locked onto that brown-skinned asshole Paraguay, he growled, "Where the fuck ha-."

"Ah, my God! You won't believe it!" The bastard yelled cheerfully, kicking the door shut, he ran over to the counter and slammed down a square piece of paper with a drawn picture of a man and English written on the bottom.

"It's a fucking wanted poster!" Carlos snapped, "Now where's my fuc-."

"But look!" The bastard Paraguay interrupted, tapping at the bottom. Carlos scowled. He hated being interrupted. "Look at the bounty on this guy's head! We could be rich!"

It is a huge bounty, Carlos agreed, but he had more pressing matters. Like his fucking ice cream, but that idiot Paraguay was oblivious as always. "So the fuck what! What's that got to do with us?" Carlos grumbled.

"Carlos, baby, don't you get it?" The fucker grinned. Carlos's left nostril flared. God, I want to punch him. "I got this in Denver! There was a Russian battalion there handing them out like candy."

"A Russian battalion?" Carlos repeated. Now that did get his interest. "What the fuck are they doing here?" As far as he knew, even the Russians stayed out of the Americas if they could. This area was fucking insane unless you were made of grit.

"That's the crazy thing! There looking for this guy!" Paraguay chirped, "And that's not all. Guess who's here in person!"

Carlos rolled his eyes. He hated fucking guessing games. "What Santa Fucking Clause?"

"No, a different red guy. Ivan!" Paraguay answered. Carlos almost dropped the shot glass, whipping his gaze onto the bastard's chocolate-colored eyes. The fucker was much like Carlos except he had wavy, black hair that was cropped short. The fucker even wore the same outfit as Carlos because he believed they were a fucking couple and should match. One more reason Carlos couldn't stand the shit head.

"You better not be shitting me," Carlos warned.

"I'm not! Ivan, the fucking insane bastard of Russia, is here! They were heading this way last I heard. I got back here as fast I could. Poor Fidel is exhausted." Fidel was their mule. Carlos loved that goddam mule and he could think of no better name for it.

"What's he doing here?" He meant it as in person, but that idiot took it differently.

"Just what I said!" Paraguay said in a tone of boy, you're slow. Carlos really wanted to punch him. Why did I partner with him? Carlos wondered, but he knew the answer. He'd been wasted and slept with the guy who naively thought they had something. Which was bullshit because Carlos couldn't fucking stand the idiot, especially when he'd been without ice cream for TWENTY-FOUR FUCKING HOURS! "They're looking for him!"

"And what the fuck does that have to do with us? And where the fuck is my ICE BOX?" He demanded, his voice seething with menace.

"In the wagon," Paraguay answered meekly, some of Carlos anger getting through. Carlos relaxed a little knowing he'd get his ice cream soon. "Don't you see? There looking for him in this area. That means he's here! He's in this area. He could run into us!"

"You idiot!" Carlos shouted. He'd had enough of this moron. "Do you really think this," he glanced at the wanted poster, "Alfred F. Jones would just waltz into here li-."

The door flew open and they both looked over to see a man with wheat-blonde hair and glasses on, grinning in the doorway. "Wassup dudes?" The man beamed. "I saw your sign for coffee! And man, could I use some!"

Carlos eyes dropped down to the wanted poster where the very same face was depicted flashing that very same stupid grin and giving that very same thumbs up.

"Do you sell hamburgers too? Coz, man I'm starved!" The man asked, planting his fists on his hips. "Comprendo mi amigos?"

Carlos' eyes settled on the bottom of the poster where it read in bold letters:

**Wanted Alive and Unharmed**  
><strong>Extremely Strong<strong>  
><strong>Worships Hamburgers<strong>

The shot glass fell out of Carlos' hands and shattered on the floor.

(END OF CHAPTER. Who is Tony? And who is this Carlos? I'll give you a hint. He's from Cuba. Stay tuned for Chapter 8: The Cuban Cigar.)


	8. The Cuban Cigar

Chapter 8

The Cuban Cigar

"By the dawn's early light," Nia said in a hushed voice behind him.

"What was that?" Alfred asked, glancing over his shoulder. Dane and he were being followed through the gates by his family, all fifteen members, even the little ones who were being carried by the older ones.

"Just something I thought of. Maybe a lyric for a song I'm writing," she whispered, smiling at him. It was too dark to see her expression but he knew she was wearing her usual gentle smile.

"That song you showed me last night?" He inquired, staring up at the sky. Nothing but a blanket of dark clouds above. No stars or moon tonight. Dawn was an hour off. Pa and Rhodes were a couple feet behind them carrying lanterns. Their light made the frosted dew and frozen puddles glitter like diamonds. Every footstep crunched under toe. They were almost to the final gate.

"Yes," she answered. Nia had a beautiful voice and was always writing songs.

"I can't wait until you finish it. It'll be beautiful." She coughed, but he knew she was touched by his words.

Alfred adjusted his pack. It was significantly lighter and smaller now that he had offloaded the chess board and several other things he'd acquired on his journey. He had on brown leather gloves that his mother had made for him as well as an extra layer of clothing under his coat. He was kind of hot actually, but Ma had insisted he put them on.

"Sure you don't want a horse, boy?" Pa asked, stepping forward as Alfred opened the gate and stepped out into the open, the Jones clan following.

"Nah," Alfred declined, facing everyone, "Where I'm going a horse won't be of much use besides me and my pack are prettying tiring on them. You remember," Pa nodded. "Plus I can out walk any ole' horse as long as I got grub," he said, jerking a thumb at his chest.

"Al. Mr. Cook," Ma said, stepping forward she held up two leather parkas, saying, "This is a gift for both of you. Me and the girls worked almost all night getting them ready as well as mending both of yer' clothes."

Dane nodded at her gratefully, "Thank you for everything," he said accepting his. The older girls giggled. Alfred and his brothers shot Dane a small glare, but Alfred quickly grinned again taking his.

"Thanks Ma," he said, setting down his pack, he slipped it on. Dane followed suit. Alfred held up his arms and modeled in it a bit. "It's great."

"We also put in your favorite foods and refilled your canteens," she said, sniffling a little as she clutched at his sleeves. "Al, I want ya to promise me ya'll take good care of yerself."

"I will Ma," he replied, hugging her, he rested his chin on the crown of her head.

"And that ya'll wash yer face and scrub behind your ears every morning."

"I will, Ma," he answered, her arms encircled his waist, pulling him into a tighter hug.

"That's both ears!"

"Will do!" He chuckled. It was too dark to be sure, but he noticed out of the corner of his eye Dane staring at the whole scene rather intently. Has he never seen a guy and his mom hug before or something?

For a moment, he thought Ma wouldn't let go, but Pa stepped forward, resting one hand on her shoulder, he set his lantern on the ground and said, "It's time."

"I know," she sniffled, pulling away from Alfred, she smoothed his hair, looking up at him earnestly with tears coursing down her cheeks, "It's hard to believe how handsome you've grown. My little boy. All grown up. Seems like only yesterday I was helpin' ya dress and fixin' yer breeches. Now yer' off to see the world."

He grabbed one of her hands and pressed it against his cheek, smiling. Her lower lip trembled and she bit it, backing away into Pa's embrace. "I'll miss you guys," he said slowly backing away, knowing if he didn't leave now he might lose heart to do so. He might decide to stay another night and then another. As much as he yearned to explore and for freedom, this place would always hold a special warmth in his heart.

"Al," she called after he was a few feet away, "Please come visit us! And know, no matter what happens, you'll always have a home here." Then she turned and buried her face in Pa's chest. Alfred grinned, but it was forced and hiding his own sadness.

"May we follow for a bit longer?" Some of the kids asked. Pa and Alfred nodded. And all but the younger ones and the ones holding them followed Alfred and Dane. Pa had decided not to accompany Al to Eagle Rock given how Ma was taking his departure.

Before he knew who, an arm hooked around his and he looked to his left to see Delly skipping along beside him. "So," she said in a very knowing tone, "Who's Dane really?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know," She said and winked. "Is he your..." She trailed off, waggling your eyebrows.

"Oh, so it's that obvious?" Alfred chuckled, reaching over, he clapped a hand on Dane's shoulder. The boy stiffened and Alfred declared, "He's my back-up!"

Mr. Puffin sharply pecked at Alfred's hand. "Yeowch !" He yelped, letting go and shaking it. "No need to be so rough, man!" Dane merely raised an eyebrow and walked faster until there was a good two feet separating them.

After a few minutes it was time to say good-bye and the others stopped and waved. The boys and Delly whistled and hooted things like, "Kick butt and takes names! You're a Jones after all!"

While the girls were more prim and called things like, "Don't you dare break anyone's heart! Stay safe! Don't forget to brush your teeth and wash your hands!"

Alfred turned away and started marching forward giving them a two-finger salute. Something's in my eyes! That was why he didn't look back. He was saving the others the embarrassment of thinking Alfred F. Jones was crying. Like he would!

But Dane had to say something, "What's in your eye?" The boy smirked. "Are those tears?"

"No," Alfred said, biting his lower lip. "Just got some grit in them." He wasn't crying. These were just man tears. They happened sometimes. He lifted up his glasses and wiped them off.

They walked in silence until sunrise, or at least Dane did. Alfred was silent according to his definition. Humming and whistling tunes didn't count as noise as far as he was concerned. It was when they were fixing lunch that Alfred finally spoke up though. "So are we doing this together or what?" He asked.

"Doing what?" Dane asked as they ate a couple of the biscuits Ma had packed for them.

"Looking for the fairyland together," He replied. "You seem to know more about it than me," He admitted, rubbing at his head, "So maybe we'd make a great team. I could be the hero and you could be my back-up!" He held up a forefinger and flashed those teeth. Dane looked unamused.

"I suppose I can agree to exploring together," Dane finally said, not sounding annoyed though Alfred was whacked "accidentally" by a stick Dane just happened to be moving.

* * *

><p>"Welcome to Montana State!" Alfred declared throwing out his arms as Dane crested the hill and got his first glimpse. Alfred grinned and planted his fists on his hips. "Great place, right?"<p>

The town was like a sprawled out mishmash of wooden boxes. The main streets were wide and covered in dirt while the buildings were crammed together forming tight alleys. The town sat in the middle of a grass land with a small creek trickling through its middle. Off in the distance loomed the tree line of the Yellowstone Woods. The very dirt road Alfred and Dane were on lead straight through the center of town and continued on until it disappeared into the horizon, stay parallel to the woods but never entering.

"It's...lovely," Dane said.

"I know, right?" Alfred grinned, clamping a hand on Dane's shoulder. The boy flinched, but Alfred continued, "Bet you're not used to such fanciness." He didn't bother looking at Dane, sure the boy was just in awe of this. "Betcha didn't know this," he said, leaning closer, "But they sell the best fertilizer here in all the lands!"

"They must be proud," Dane said weakly.

"Are they ever!" Alfred agreed, beginning his power-walk down. "I haven't been here since I was this big," he said holding his hand below his chest. He stopped, noticing Dane wasn't following. "I didn't even wear glasses back then. Gonna just stand there gaping or what?"

"R-right," Dane said, coming down. He walked alongside Alfred, Mr. Puffin on his head as usual. "Alfred, why don't we stay here a day and head into the woods tomorrow?"

"I like the way you think. You're such good back-up!" Alfre chirped and yelped when an elbow sharply jabbed his ribs.

"Sorry, I stumbled," Dane said, walking ahead. Alfred just rolled his eyes and caught up to him.

"I know this great inn on the far side of town. Pa and me stayed there once. Great place. They make a great breakfast!" He said, swinging his arms along his sides.

"What is its name?"

"The Brawl in the Wild, I think. You can't miss it though. Biggest inn here. You can almost see it from here. That two story one near the edge," he said, walking on his tiptoes and pointing.

"How about this," Dane suggested. "I need to shop and buy a few things. Why don't you reserve us a room and I will meet you there later?"

"Sounds fantastic!" Alfred grinned, giving the thumbs up. "Best room-booker in all the lands, at your service." He saw Dane slightly smile. They walked in that "Alfred silence" again until they entered town and split up.

Alfred yawned as he waved good-bye to Dane. He hadn't slept well last night. The full moon was in two nights and he had been afraid to sleep under even the-close-to-full-moon, preferring to get by with only two or three hours sleep instead.

The streets were not that busy, but there were ladies in puffy dresses moving around holding up lacy umbrellas. That did strike him as odd. Why are the kingdoms so different? He didn't dwell on it long because something caught his eye and he froze, craning his head to face the most wonderful thing ever!

Wedged between Loyd's Tombstone Shop and Anderson's Fertilizer Store, Alfred didn't need to read their signs since he recognized them from similar stores in his hometown, was a little rickety shop with a sign hanging almost loose above the door. The sign had a peeling red-pain borderline and a big cigar carved on the front.

Squinting he read the name, "Cu...cu...ban. Kuh-Ban? What's a Kuh-ban?" He wondered aloud, scratching at his temples. He read the next part as, "Ki-gar. Oh it must be Cigar!" He said, hitting a fist into his palm. That would explain the cigar carving, but what really caught his eye was the little sign propped next to the door that had a picture of a mug of coffee.

Coffee was exactly what the doctor ordered. What's the harm in a little wake-up juice? He grinned and went inside.

* * *

><p>Crack. Alfred flinched at the sound of the shot glass shattering. His two new amigos hardly noticed, they just kept staring at him. "W-what?" He said, backing towards the door. Weirdos.<p>

"NOOOOO!" They both cried, practically lunging at him. The fatter one, ushered, no dragged him toward a table, smiling, "Come in! Come in my American friend!" He seated America at a square table that seemed assembled from spare wood. His seat was a wooden crate. "You said coffee? We have coffee! Paraguay!" He snapped and Alfred jumped in shock.

"Sí" The other one cried, jumping to attention.

"Coffee. ¡Ahora!" Paraguay took off, tripping over a plank that was sticking up, he stumbled to his feet and grabbed the door frame, spinning into the kitchen. A loud crash followed, several pots and pans clattered onto the floor along with several glass items shattering.

"¡PUTA! ¡PUTA!" The man screeched. Alfred blinked and shut his mouth, figuring out that he was gaping. He looked up at the fatter one who was massaging the bridge of his nose and taking in deep breathes.

The man gave a very strained grin that revealed two rows of yellow teeth and said, "My name is Carlos. Welcome to the The Cuban Cigar!" He put out a hand that Alfred slowly took a little too stunned to speak. "You wanted hamburgers?"

Alfred perked up at that, forgetting some of the prior weirdness. "Yeah." He nodded. "Is your friend okay?"

"Oh, him," Carlos chuckled, waving it dismissively, "Está bien. Happens all the time. So we don't sell hamburgers." Alfred deflated, "But we do sell enchiladas."

"What's that?"

"It's made with meat and cheese an-."

"I'll take it!" Alfred piped. That was all he needed to hear.

* * *

><p>"That American is not human," Paraguay concluded as Carlos returned to the kitchen.<p>

"Well, maybe you didn't give him enough," Carlos hissed.

"I gave him enough to down a buffalo!" Paraguay replied.

"Keep your goddamn voice down!" Carlos muttered.

"Why? He doesn't understand us."

"Better safe than sorry," Carlos said, adding, "He yawned. It must be having some effect."

"He has a stomach of iron," Paraguay answered, "I say we club him."

"But the poster said unharmed, you idiot!," Carlos muttered, even he didn't want to piss off the Russian.

"Well then what do you suggest?" He asked haughtily. Lord I really want to punch him! And maybe other things. Shit not now! He warned his lower regions. It was such a turn on when they were being bad.

"What we should have done this motherfucking American from the start!" Carlos snapped, grabbing a tequila bottle off the wall.

* * *

><p>Alfred was just licking the last of the enchilada sauce off his fingers when a shot glass was slammed in front of him. He blinked, wrinkling his nose at the strong odor. "Uh, dude, no offense, but it's a little early to drink."<p>

"Nonsense, mi amigo," The pudgy one smiled. "It's never too early for breakfast and this is on the house."

"Really?" Alfred said, confused.

"Yes, we always give first time customers shots of our finest tequila," Carlos explained.

"What if their kids?"

"Smaller shots."

Alfred quirked an eyebrow and pushed the glass away, "No thanks."

"But I insist," Carlos said, scooting it back, "Besides," he said, holding a hand to the side of his mouth as he leaned forward, nodding toward the kitchen, "You'd break my buddy Paraguay's heart if you turned it down. He really put his blood and tears into making that."

Alfred gasped, gaping in disgust at the glass.

"Not really!" Carlos hissed through clenched teeth, his grin becoming strained. Alfred heard sniffling and peeked around Carlos to see Paraguay leaning out of the kitchen. The man ducked back into the kitchen at the sight of Alfred.

Alfred sighed. One shot couldn't hurt. "All right," he agreed, picking it up.

"That's the spirit!" Carlos said, swiping a fist through the air.

"Bottoms up!" Alfred said, gulping it down. It burned almost as bad as vodka. He almost gagged, but he swallowed it and set the glass down. "Well, I should probably get going," He said, feeling a little dizzy as he stood up. Those enchiladas were pretty filling. He just wanted to flop onto a bed and take a nice long nap.

"You don't look so good mi amigo," Carlos said in concern. "We have a bed if you'd like to lay down and rest."

"Nah, I should ge...," He stumbled, sinking to one knee, he clutched at his head. A shockwave of nausea rocked through him. His vision tunneled and the last thing he knew was his face heading for the floor.

* * *

><p>Dane had found some shops that had his interest, but nothing quite with what he needed. He was just passing by a bow and arrow shop with some nice looking crossbows, when a wall of Wanted posters grabbed his attention, one in particular that depicted a certain grinning idiot giving a thumbs-up.<p>

"Damn," he cursed, ripping it down. Mr. Puffin almost fell off as  
>Dane took off down the street, racing for the inn. This was bad. He hoped that American wasn't dumb enough to get himself recognized or worse.<p>

* * *

><p>Alfred woke to a splitting hangover. Did Buffalo go stampeding over my head or what? He groaned and tried to move, frowning. Two things were very wrong. First, he had a sweaty rag stuffed in his mouth, gagging him. Second, his feet and hands were tied together by pretty heavy duty rope.<p>

He was still pretty weak from whatever they'd given him, but his head was clear enough to realize he'd been drugged. He shifted, his left arm and leg tingling as blood crept back into them, they'd fallen asleep from this position.

Stupid! Stupid! He was never accepting free things again! It just always got him in trouble. First in Canada and now here.

He wiggled, feeling things out. He also realized it wasn't just dark, he was blindfolded. Where is Texas? He wondered.

He moved more and found he was on some kind of dirt floor. It smelled of dust, liquor and ice cream down here. The hell? Stiffening at the sound of voices in front of him, muffled by a door, Alfred stilled, pretending he was passed out again. They were speaking in spanish but he could catch some words. Thank you Yorkie for your lessons!

A door opened and he saw some light through his blindfold and heard their sandals creak on stairs as they came down.

"Se lo mando?" Carlos asked gruffly. Mando? Doesn't that mean send? But what was sent?

"Sí, el ruso vendrá," Paraguay replied. Ruso? What did ruso mean? Oh, how Alfred hated the subtlety of Spanish. He caught vendrá though. That meant coming. What is coming?

They stopped before him and Carlos said, "Se despertó."

"Sí," the other agreed.

Someone bent down and snarled their fingers through Alfred's hair, yanking up his head and using another grubby hand to caress his cheek. "¡Qué belleza!" Carlos laughed. "So what do you say amigo? Shall we have some fun?" Alfred's eyes widened as the hand ripped the gag out and he was dragged into a brutal kiss that tasted of cigars and lemon ice cream.

(END OF CHAPTER 8. Not much to say. Chapter 9: Everyone Wants Alfred!)


	9. Everybody Wants Alfred

(Thanks everyone for your supportive comments! Yeah, I delete flamers. They're conveniently anonymous so they're easy to get rid of. Thanks flamers ^_~ The only reason I mentioned them is I think it's important for others authors to know not to take their crap too serious. They prey on everyone and they love newly posted stories. So don't feel alone. They're everyone's problem! )

(**ALSO:** Sorry if it wasn't clear last chapter, but they drugged that tequila shot. They put the sleeping drug in the food, but it didn't work, once they put it in the alcohol though... I didn't mean for Alfred to seem _that_ weak to booze.)

(This chapter was mostly worked out, but I got so many reviews. I worked on it after work and got it up. Thanks for all the comments. I really motivates me to keep going!)

**Chapter 9**

**Everyone Wants Alfred!**

The moment Alfred realized what was happening he bit down hard. "_Puta de hijo!_" He snarled at Alfred, slamming him down. From the rush of air and what his other senses were telling him he was about to be punched.

"¡BASTA!" Paraguay cried and he heard them struggle as Carlos was held back. "Ivan qu-."

"Ivan?" Alfred interrupted. "You're working for Ivan?"That didn't seem possible. His heart thudded in his chest. _It would take him a couple months to reach me here_, _wouldn't it?_ He remembered their words of something coming. _Did they mean Ivan?_

Both ceased their fighting and grew very quiet. Alfred continued to try and convince himself that there was no way Ivan was anywhere near him now. _Unless he has some kinda magic carpet or something_. Which was silly, but then he wondered. _If the fairyland is supposedly a real place, why not..._ No it couldn't be. This was his homeland. Where he grew up. He couldn't imagine Ivan here. Not here. The thought shook him to his core. If he wasn't safe here, was he safe anywhere?

"None of your damn business, _gringo_," Carlos spat. Alfred's clenched his jaw. _They are_, he realized and he could use that. Paraguay was shoved away and Carlos grabbed Alfred by his shirt collar dragging him up.

Alfred laughed, snickering, "Touch me, buddy and you're the _one_ that'll be sorry."

"What do you mean? You can't do anything to me," Carlos said, his face close enough for Alfred's to smell his stinking breath.

"It's not what _I'll_ do to _you_," He taunted, smirking, he tasted blood on his lips from when he bit Carlos. "It's what Ivan will do to _you."_

_ "_He'll never know," Carlos answered and Alfred chuckled, the man shook him, "Stop laughing!"

"Won't know? Won't know?" Alfred giggled, trying to mimic Ivan's way of doing it. "Of course he'll _know_. He has a way of _knowing _things. I'd hate to see you get your balls cut off or something." Carlos dropped him.

"Carlos, maybe he's r-," Paraguay began, but Carlos cut over him, snapping, "¡_Callate!"_

"What would he care if I have a little fun? He only wants you unharmed so he can torture you." Alfred threw his head back, laughing hard. "STOP THAT!" He screamed.

"You think Ivan wants to torture me?" Alfred teased, grinning, "How funny! Don't you get what I am?" He could sense Carlos confusion. He lifted himself up with his elbow. "I'll make it simple dimwit. I'm his _lover_."

"His _what?_" The Cuban and Paraguay gasped.

"Yeah, that's right. His dearly beloved," Alfred cackled, amused and alarmed by the idea himself. He leaned as far up as his restraints allowed. "His one and _only_. Can I make it any clearer? How about this? You lay one _fucking _finger on me and I'll make sure he knows you touched _his_ precious sunflower with your _fucking_ filthy hands!"

"C-Carlos," Paraguay stammered, his voice trembled. Carlos stood over him breathing heavily and Alfred felt a dangerous air.

"Maybe," Carlos breathed, his voice raspy, "I should just slit your throat and be done with you _amigo_. You might say we hurt you anyway just for revenge."

"You'd be dumber than a gnat if you did," Alfred explained like he were talking to a moron, "I told you, he has ways of _knowing_. Don't you know? That man's a fucking sorcerer who commands the _goddamn _winter. Kill me and see what happens, fucktard!"

"You!" Carlos snarled and Alfred heard from the scrape of the dirt, his foot being pulled back, but once again Paraguay was back, struggling to stop Carlos.

"Carlos! _Basta! Basta! Por favor!"_ Paraguay cried and Carlos sucked in a deep breathe. "It's too risky!"

"¡_Mierda!"_ Carlos shouted, kicking dirt in Alfred's face. "All right, _puta madre_! You get your wish, but _don't _say a fucking word about us touching. Or I swear I'l-."

"I'll say _nada_ if you don't touch me," Alfred interrupted.

"Hope you enjoy being his butt-boy," Carlos hissed, "Because he'll be here real soon." Alfred went rigid. _He'll what? _Maybe Ivan really did have a magic carpet. _Did he follow me out of Canada? How can he move so fast?_ "Oh, you seem surprised? Didn't you know your lover is _here_?" Then Carlos laughed, it was deep and throaty, full of mocking.

_No!_ Alfred was stunned. His smile fell off. He barely heard Carlos storm up the steps, Paraguay following behind him. He was hardly aware of the door slamming shut, leaving him once more alone. All he could think was of the terrible danger his family and friends were in if Ivan was here.

Cold fear welled in his stomach, but that wasn't the worst part. That was the knowledge that, deep down, a part of him longed to see the man.

"No!" he whimpered, his voice suddenly hoarse, he struggled at his bonds.

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_What the fuck just happened?_ Carlos stomped over to the kitchen sink gripping the metal rim. He took in deep breathes, wetting a rag, he wiped the blood off his lower lip and chin. _What the fuck?_

"What the fuck did you just do?"  Paraguay demanded behind him, his tone pissed. "Rape? I mean what the fuck? Are you crazy?"

"What so kidnapping and selling him are fine, but rape is too much?" Carlos demanded, rounding on Paraguay. "This was all your idea! All I wanted was my fucking ice cream!"

Again a small flash of desire pulsed through him, but it was much fainter. He hadn't actually wanted that brat, but when he tasted him. Something had happened. That boy had tasted like a sherbet. Fucking sherbet ice cream. Carlos loved fucking sherbet. What human could taste that way? Carlos was baffled. _It was temporary insanity_. That had to be it.

"You wanted to rape him in front of your own boyfriend?" Paraguay said, shaking his head.

"Boyfriend?" Carlos laughed, "Don't be ridiculous! You're nothing but a fuck buddy!"

"I hate what an ass you are without your ice cream!" Paraguay huffed, "But this was a new level of low. Why?"

"I don't know!" Carlos said, smashing a fist on the rim. _Ow_, he thought, the sink ringing. "I wasn't only trying to rub in his face how powerless he was, but then...," he trailed off, clutching at his temple, he faced Paraguay, almost pleading, "He's not my type at all! I couldn't help it!"

"Couldn't help it?"Paraguay repeated, looking more offended. "I always knew you were many things, but I never thought you were a rapist!"

"Oh don't act all high and mighty!" Carlos declared, "I don't give a shit what _you_ think of me! Just make yourself useful and go gag the boy!"

Paraguay's eyes narrowed and he spun around and walked off with a huff, throwing the basement door shut behind him. Carlos heard him stomp down the steps.

Carlos stared up at the cracked ceiling for a few moments, regretting his words. He just really wanted his ice cream. Ice cream made everything better. _Except this time_. It was hard to understand how one boy could taste like all the things Carlos wanted. The only explanation he could think of was that the boy wasn't _natural_. Something was off.

"_Puta_," He muttered, frustrated with everything. Pissed at the fact he had months and months of fucking whining from his bastard mate to look forward too. He could hear it now. _Why'd you do that? Aren't I enough? How could try to rape someone in front of me?_ Whine, whine, whine.

The worst fucking part being, beside the fact that he still hadn't gotten his fucking ice cream, was that he didn't know why it happened. It was stupid. Yet after that kiss, he had wanted to fuck the boy senseless. Now that he was coming out of whatever witchcraft, and it had to be something like even if he didn't believe in magic, the thought of screwing that boy seemed unappealing as hell.

_Nothing makes any goddamn sense_. _Is it too much to ask to have a successful shop, a working ice box, and an understanding partner? _

He was snapped from his reverie by a sudden pounding on the front door. "Can't be," he wondered aloud, trying not to looked hurried as he came over. _We only just sent the carrier pigeon a couple hours ago_. To his surprise, it was and when Carlos saw those icy violet eyes glaring at him from the other side of the door's glass pane, he broke into a cold sweat.

_Maybe we're in over our heads_.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Dane felt like such an idiot. He should have guessed the American would NOT go straight to the inn. He should have used the _compass_ from the beginning rather than running around searching for him. Sunset was near and casting deep shadows across the street.

Dane stood in an alley, staring at his compass. It's needle pointed at both _The Cuban Cigar_, occasionally flicking toward the woods. "He has to be here," He said. Mr. Puffin fluttered down into the alley Dane was in, occasionally peeking out to observe the coffee place from around the corner.

Mr. Puffin nodded and Dane tucked away the compass in his small pack. "Is he in trouble?" His friend nodded again. "Damn," Dane sighed. He would need a plan.

He saw several people run by the mouth of the alley, pointing at something. Curious at what everyone was staring at and chattering about, he leaned out, looking around the wall and whipped back around, flattening his back against the wall.

_Holy shit!_ Ivan was there. Right outside that cigar shop. He'd almost stared straight at him. _Is he after me?_ He dismissed that thought. Ivan sent assassins and probably still had several scouring the Western Kingdoms for him. The man didn't personally come after people.

_Then why_?He remembered the Wanted Poster. It was by posted by the Russian Kingdom. _What have I gotten myself into? What is Alfred to Ivan?_ _Should I_ _just abandon him?_ He debated this. Rescue was risky.

_I'm nothing but a coward_, he thought and he set his head back against the wall, turning to Mr. Puffin who was perched on his shoulder. He leaned out, noticing several Russian soldiers fanning out to different parts. They weren't all staying in front of _The Cuban Cigar_.

_Their setting up a perimeter_. He could use that, especially when he noticed one heading off down a side road, alone with a horse. "Hmmm," he hummed. Dane had a plan. He just hoped he wouldn't get himself killed saving that fool.

"Time to be dumb," He breathed and was off.

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Alfred stopped moving as Paraguay came down. "It's no good, _amigo_," Paraguay said. "That is tough rope." Alfred almost laughed. If he wasn't weak from the drugs, he could snap it, but he wasn't back at his true strength yet.

"Come to molest me too?" He smiled, his words laced with sarcasm.

"_Lo siento_," Paraguay said, kneeling beside him. "Carlos isn't like that. He gets a little mean when he doesn't have his ice cream."

"A _little_?" Alfred guffawed, "Understatement of the year! Why are you doing this?"

"You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"You have a bounty on your head. A big one," He stated. _A bounty?_

"So you're just a bunch of greedy assholes," Alfred muttered, just venting his frustration at this whole situation. _How could I be so dumb?_ He needed his strength back _now._

"You wouldn't understand, but we need the money," Paraguay said, bending over Alfred. "Dreams are expensive."

"What are you doing?" He demanded as Paraguay touched his cheek.

"I must put the gag back," He answered and Alfred felt it against his lips.

"And you think I'll just open my mouth and let you? Careful, buddy, as your friend learned, I _bite_."

"If you do, I will take off your blindfold and return your...your... _anteojos_," he offered.

"My glasses?" Alfred perked up at that. A chance to see where he was. "Fine, but take the blindfold off first, please." He was being civil only because this Paraguay was being somewhat kind. The blindfold was removed and his glasses pushed on. He blinked, wondering if it was off at all.

It was dark down here and then he realized it was almost night. _How long was I out?_ Paraguay stared at him expectantly and with great reluctance he opened his mouth, wincing in disgust as the foul-tasting rag was shoved back in.

Paraguay went and sat at the bottom step, gazing off lazily like the man was daydreaming about something. Alfred took his opportunity, studying everything. His body went cold at the sound of a voice above. He stared up, trying to see through the cracks in the floorboard, but he didn't need to see to know who was up there now as Carlos stammered something and opened the door. Bits of dirt fell onto Alfred's cheek as Ivan stepped.

_He's above him_, Alfred realized in horror. He could hear them speaking.

"Privyeti_," _Ivan greeted Carlos coldly. Alfred shivered and stared above, straining to listen as his fate was laid out.

(END OF CHAPTER 9. Next chapter things heat up as we race to the Yellowstone Forest. Stay tuned for **Chapter 10: Race to the Woods!)**


	10. Race To The Woods

Chapter 10

Race to the Woods!

Carlos' hand trembled as he unlocked the door and opened it. Shit, I'm sweating like a pig. The Russian had one scary mother fucking aura. Now Carlos knew why people avoided this man like the plague.

"Privyeti," He greeted Carlos as he stepped in. It sounded more like a sneer. "I received your messenger pigeon. You said you had information to my Alfred's whereabouts?"

Straight to the point. Carlos also noted that Alfred wasn't kidding about that lover talk. He almost pitied the American asshole. Almost.

"Y-yes," he stammered. Shit don't sound so afraid. You have to negotiate. "Would you like coffee?" He managed, relieved Paraguay wasn't up there. He didn't want him near this crazy bastard.

Ivan paused in thought, then asked, "Do you have vodka, comrade?"

"Sí, señor," Carlos responded, half-stumbling, half-tripping as he rounded the bar. He had to focus to keep from sloshing alcohol all over the counter as he poured the vodka into a shot glass. Ivan took a seat at the bar stool, staring around as if searching for something.

Two of his soldiers came in and took posts by the door. Both were blonde, but one had green eyes and wore glasses. Ivan gulped down the shot and slammed it down; a very disturbing grin lit his features.

"Da, now that is vodka!" He giggled, a sound that made Carlos's skin crawl. "More." Carlos obliged. I might need a few drinks myself.

For the umpteenth time he lamented what Paraguay had gotten them into.

* * *

><p>It was like Alfred could feel Ivan above him as if they were connected. No way! His heart was beating fast and he knew it wasn't from fear alone. Stop it! He growled at himself mentally. There was no way he wanted to be captured.<p>

Though you sure are good at, his smart-ass mind commented. Shut up! He growled back in his head. That wasn't true. He just was...Concentrate on getting out of this!

The conversation above was too muffled to understand now they were speaking in low voices so he turned his attention to surveying the room. The basement was split in two by a work shelf that was cluttered with junk. His feet were pointed toward it. He lifted himself up a bit to get a better look.

Some late evening sunlight was filtering in through some narrow glass windows up on that wall of the basement. From what he could see they were propped open, probably to let fresh air in. They also faced some kind of alley. He could see another wooden building barely a couple feet away from them.

If I ripped the frame off I could climb out, he thought, but how to do that without Paraguay saying something was the bigger question. There was also no telling how many Russians were out there. He was sure he could snap the bonds now, but he wasn't sure about everything else and if he had time. They had underestimated his strength. Everyone always did.

Maybe I could say I need a to pee and then when he's near, head-butt him! Yeah or wait... His mind somehow added in a scheme of using an army of rats that he summoned by whistling when he spotted the most out of place thing possible here: Mr. Puffin.

He blinked. Sure he was seeing things, but the bird was waddling over from behind the work shelf to Paraguay. He tilted his head. What did they drug me with?

"Hola, chiquitito," Paraguay said in a hushed voice, noticing the bird. "Se perdió?" If Alfred remembered correctly that meant something along the lines of Are you lost? Alfred wished he would just speak English. It was such a logical language after all!

What happened next stunned Alfred. Paraguay knelt down and Mr. Puffin pecked the top of his hand hard, drawing blood. "Hey!" Paraguay hissed, sucking at the wound. Suddenly, his expression went slack and then his eyes lolled up and he keeled over, landing on the dirt with an "umph".

If not for the gag, Alfred would have been gaping. He scooted back when the bird began waddling toward him, scraping its beak off on the dirt for some reason. Now wait just a damn minute! He wanted to shout and for a moment wondered if the bird wanted revenge for all the times they didn't get along, but then his better senses got a hold of him.

Still he couldn't help, but stare at Paraguay and wonder, Is he dead? Am I next?

* * *

><p>While Mr. Puffin was off taking care of Alfred, and Dane knew he could trust Mr. Puffin to a job well done, Dane finished tying up the Russian soldier he'd knocked out. It had been easy. He'd used one of his arrows, dipped it a small jar of sleeping potion that he'd borrowed from his older brother. It was surprisingly potent.<p>

Creeping up on the guy had been easy as the man had been occupied urinating. Dane had just jabbed into the side of the man's neck. Prick and the man went down. Even better, the guy had gone into the alley behind the Cigar Shop, either to goof off or to keep watch. Dane didn't really care since it made things easier for him.

The horse was dressed as a soldier's horse with a red skirt that had golden tassels hanging off the hem. They would have to ride out of here fast, but he'd already plotted their escape root. The alley ran behind these two rows of buildings and they would just turn left at the end and get on the main road and get out of here.

Hiding the man under some crates in a little off-shoot of this trash-strewn ally, he led the man's horse over toward the back of the Cigar shop. There were no windows at the back and the door was locked, but the basement windows were open. They were too small for a man to fit through.

Before he left Mr. Puffin, he'd had the bird dip his beak in the sleeping potion cream and warned him to not ingest it. Mr. Puffin could use it to take out any threats.

He smiled as Mr. Puffin crawled out of the open window and flew over to Dane, landing on the horse's saddle. He nipped playfully at Dane who saw a familiar face appear behind the grimy window.

Dane dropped to his knees, whispering, "Alfred?"

"The one and only," the boy mouthed as if afraid to talk. He was rubbing at his wrists. "I managed to snap the bonds with the birds help, but Dan-."

"Sorry to interrupt, but let's talk about it later," Dane suggested. Alfred nodded. "Can you squeeze through?"

Alfred shook his head. "I have to pull the frame off," he whispered.

"Will they hear?"

"Probably. I'll try to be quiet, but we should be ready to bust some tail." Dane assumed that mean be ready to flee. Alfred frowned and reached into his pocket, gripping something he relaxed. "Sorry, I just wanted to make sure I still had it."

Had what? Dane quirked an eyebrow. "You ready?" Alfred asked.

"Mr. Puffin, please follow from above," Dane murmured and the bird took off. "Now I'm ready."

Alfred grabbed the window.

* * *

><p>Carlos was sweating bullets, his underarms completely soaked. He felt disgusting and really missed his ice cream, but he was getting somewhere with the Russian when he heard a sharp CRASH below.<p>

The basement! Not bothering to say anything to Ivan, he took off. The only thing on his mind was Paraguay. That bastard better not be hurt. He threw the door open and his heart stopped at the sight of the lower half of Paraguay's toppled form.

I'll kill the American! He saw red as he flew down the stairs. "Paraguay!" He cried, about to fall beside him when he saw the American bastard halfway through the middle window, his feet dangling a foot off the ground. "YOU!" He screamed, launching himself.

Not a smart idea as the American looked over and kicked his foot up at the right moment, connecting the butt of his heel with Carlos' temple. The blow sent him into a wall and stars dotted his vision. He must have blacked out because when he came to, Ivan was standing in front of the window the American had been climbing through, an expression on his face that curdled Carlos' blood.

* * *

><p>"Oops," Alfred said, dropping the remnants of the frame. He hadn't realized how rotten the wood was. His attempt to gently pry it off had ended in disaster with the whole thing falling apart and the pane shattering on the ground.<p>

"Hurry!" Dane urged, his tone annoyed. He held out a hand and Alfred took it, hoisting himself up, kicking and pushing on the wall as wiggled and struggled through the window. He was halfway through when the Cuban showed up, but he took care of him.

Finding a foothold in a crack in the wall, he shoved himself out and scrabbled out onto the dirt. He wasted no time, running to the horse. He frowned when Dane jumped on first.

"Hey! Le-."

"I'm the better rider," Dane stated. Alfred opened his mouth to protest, but heard the sound of booted feet crunching on glass. Hopping on the saddle behind Dane, he froze when a voice behind him said, "Sunflower."

Don't look! Don't look! But his eyes went toward the source anyway. Framed by the broken window was Ivan's pale face. Alfred couldn't make a sound.

Ivan's gaze shifted to Dane. "You!" Ivan snarled, his voice dripping with malevolence, his grin demented as he glared at Dane. How do they know each other?  
>"Miss me?" Dane teased and then to Alfred's shock he shifted around until he was facing Alfred. He winked at Alfred, grabbed his cheeks and he yanked him into a kiss. Alfred went rigid.<p>

The hell? Was it kiss Alfred day or something? Except it wasn't really a kiss, it was what Yorkie called a "theatre kiss" where you put your thumbs around the other person's mouth in such a way that you look like your kissing them when all you are really doing is kissing your own thumb. Dane was fake kissing Alfred, but when Alfred's eyes went sideways he saw that Ivan was fooled.

Dane even moaned, making things worse. Alfred was about to shove him off when Dane let go, smirking at Ivan who had his pipe out and was giggling with murderous joy.

Dane pivoted back around and kicked the horse to go as Ivan roared something in Russian at them. Alfred was sure whatever he was saying wasn't pleasant. "You're insane!" Alfred yelled.

"Just figured it out?" Dane said, his tone bemused. Ivan screamed after them. Alfred glanced over just in time to see purple light explode out of the window, creating a bigger hole that Ivan was just beginning to climb out of.

"Shit he's pissed!" Alfred said as they turned out of the alley, Ivan disappearing from sight. For now at least.

"Good!" Dane called back, "The bastard deserves it!" They were on the main street, the horse galloping fast as they dodged carriages and people.

"Is that why you did that? To piss him off?"

"Of course!" Dane chimed and Alfred could hear mirth in the boy's voice. He's crazy!

"We're gonna make it!" Alfred said, the end of the street was near and then it was just prairies between them and the woods. Dane nodded, but just ahead at an intersection two Russian guards came running out, crossbows aimed at them. They were shouting something.

"Watch out!" Alfred cried at the snap of the bolts firing, he shoved Dane forward just as a bolt grazed past Alfred's ear, nicking it. He sat up, touching the wound, wide-eyed. Wow, I almost died. Not that it would be the first time he had come close to death. He lived the life of a hero after all.

"They missed!" Alfred laughed, glancing back past the soldiers to see the distant figure of Ivan storming down the street, it had to be a trick of the eye, but the man seemed to be radiating purple. "We did it! We're home free!" Alfred called, the night wind ruffling his hair as they rode one. Now there was nothing but grass between them and the woods.

* * *

><p>To say Ivan was pissed was to say having your arm cut off was only a flesh wound. He was beyond livid. He not only wanted to skin a certain Icelander alive, he wanted to hurt a certain two soldiers.<p>

They fell in line and paled at the sight of him. By this point Eduard and a couple other guards had caught up to Ivan.

Ivan thought he'd start softly on the two soldiers. One had dirty blonde hair and the other auburn. He went for the auburn first, grabbing his red plate of armor with the yellow sickle on the front, he lifted him up a foot off the ground, giving his best smile.

"Who. Said. You. Could. Fire?" The soldier went wide-eyed, his eyes darting around but everyone was shrinking away from him, trying to make themselves as small as possible.

"T-they were s-stealing a horse, my Lord," He stammered, looking about to wet himself as Ivan giggled, a twisted and cruel sound even in his own ears.

"And did you hit these horse thieves?" Ivan inquired. The blood drained in the blonde one and Ivan instantly knew that was a yes. He dropped the auburn one and yanked the blonde one up.

"M-my Lord, have mercy. I-I didn't know," He squealed.

"That depends. Who did you hit?" Ivan's grin widened as he held the man closer. Worry now pulsing through him. Was Alfred hurt? He'd rip this man to shreds if so.

"Th-the front one. The white-haired one!" He managed. "I s-swear, my Lord!"

"If you are lying...," He trailed off, letting the warning sink in. The man shook his head violently. Ivan dropped him and he crumpled like a dish towel. "Eduard!" He snapped.

"Yes, my Lord," Eduard said, stepping forward.

"I have decided to be merciful. Only ten floggings each," He commanded, the two soldiers gasped. "And," Ivan said, his grin widening, "Have then both cut off half of their ear." Both turned white as a sheet. Horror plain in their eyes.

"Right or left?" Eduard asked.

"It matters not," Ivan said, "Just make sure they do it themselves and bring those pieces to me tomorrow."

"It shall be done, my Lord," Eduard said with a bow.

"Are men in pursuit?" Ivan demanded. If they weren't...

"Of course," Eduard answered. "They went after them from the other main street. "Shall I ready your horse?"

That was an unfortunate question. If only he wasn't heading to that place. It made Ivan angry but Winter seemed wary of there. "No," he answered. "I will go later."

"My Lord?"

"Do not let him escape," Ivan warned. He spared another withering look at those soldiers. They better not have hurt my Alfred. Ivan turned and started walking back to the coffee shop, pausing only to give one last order. "Have the men prepare to camp out there and ready my Iron Curtain. I want to have a small chat with our Cuban friend first." He grinned, hefting his pipe.

* * *

><p>"Woo hoo!" Alfred laughed, holding up his arms. "I can't believe we did it! We totally kicked their asses!" Dane didn't respond. In fact, he had been rather unresponsive and quiet for the past few minutes. "Dane?"<p>

"Nggg...," the boy gurgled, slumping forward he started to slide off the saddle. Alfred caught him by the waist, grabbing the reins with his other hand.

"Dane?" He repeated, "What's wrong?"

His hand touched something sticky and wet on the front of Dane's shirt. Holding up his hand, he saw his palm was covered in something dark and glistening. Blood. Running a hand down Dane's back, he found the tip of the crossbow bolt just barely sticking out. Dane had been pierced in his left side.

"Oh God," He said as Dane became dead weight against him. "Dane! Stay with me!" The boy was out cold.

(END OF CHAPTER 10. Dane is badly injured and his life now hangs by a thread. Alfred and he enter the Yellowstone forest with the Russians in hot pursuit. A place said to be haunted. What will they find? Can Alfred save the fading Dane? What secrets will be uncovered? Stay tuned for Chapter 11: Saving Dane)


	11. Saving Dane

Chapter 11  
>Saving Dane<p>

When Ivan kicked opened his bedroom door, breaking the deadbolt, Carlos finally looked away from the bed where he had laid Paraguay's body. Ivan stood in the doorway, tapping the faucet pipe against his left palm, a macabre smile on his face.

"Come to kill me?" Carlos asked, holding Paraguay's cold hand against his cheek, he kissed the knuckles. It doesn't matter anymore. I'd rather be dead anyway. He had brought Paraguay up here and set him on the bed. His lover wasn't breathing. The American bastard had killed him.

"Is that what you want?" Ivan giggled as Carlos turned back to Paraguay. "You lied to me."

No, I withheld the truth. It's called negotiating. Deal with it fuckhead, Carlos thought. "What I want...," Carlos trailed off. That's a fucking stupid question.

"Who is this?" Ivan asked, stepping beside him.

"Leave him alone!" He growled, throwing a protective arm over Paraguay. "He is to me, what the Americano is to you." He didn't daring look up to his left. Ivan's eyes were boring into him.

"You know of Alfred and I?"

"You did say my Alfred before," Carlos pointed out, "And, Alfred told me you were lovers." Ivan grabbed Carlos' shoulder in a painful grip, pushing them face to face. "Hey, wh-."

"Alfred said we were lovers?" Ivan demanded, his grin now faded to a smile. He wore an almost desperate expression. "What else did he say?"

"J-Just that," Carlos stammered, "He was your 'one and only', 'your dearly beloved', and something about a 'sunflower'." Those were the right words because Ivan let go, his face softening. Is he happy? Carlos didn't know if he was more afraid or not. Ivan slid the pipe back into his coat.

"He said that?" Ivan said softly, his smile almost natural. But a dark glint returned to his eyes as he warned, "You had better not be lying, comrade." Carlos shook his head and whatever Ivan saw in his eyes must have convinced him of Carlos' sincerity. I'm not telling him why the American said those things. Fuck hell no. "Alfred said I was his dearly beloved," Ivan giggled. Wait... no he didn't. You have it backwards, Carlos thought. There was no fucking way though that he was correcting the Russian who continued to sigh contentedly. He's like a whipped puppy when it comes to that gringo.

It was damn nerve-wracking being interrogated by the Russian on this matter as Carlos tried to mix in enough of the truth while not giving away the context of the situation. Luckily, Ivan didn't ask questions beyond the things he wanted to hear.

"So what is wrong with your lover?" Ivan inquired, smiling.

WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM? HE'S FUCKING DEAD YOU SHITHEAD! Carlos wanted to scream, but he settled for, "He's dead."

"Really?" Ivan chuckled and leaned over Paraguay grabbing the man's wrist, he pressed his thumb into it. It took all of Carlos restraint not to scream GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!

"What are you doing?" He demanded, adding, "Señor."

"Patience," Ivan answered and then he held his ear over Paraguay's lips, before opening one of Paraguay's eyes. He pulled back, stating, "He's not dead."

"Qué?" Carlos gasped, hope rising in his voice. "But he's not breathing! His body is cold!"

"He is under a spell that is already passing," Ivan answered, nodding at Paraguay. "Look his chest is moving again," Carlos turned to see it was true. He had been so distracted with Ivan he hadn't even noticed how warm Paraguay's hand had become. His heart fluttered with joy. Thank God.

"Gracias, señor," He said, falling to his knees beside the bed. He blinked to keep the tears out, refusing to bawl in front of the Russian Lord. It barely registered that he had just thanked the guy.

A leather pouch landed with a jingle on the bed. He glanced up, but Ivan was already walking out the door. Ivan called back, "For your troubles," and then was gone.

Curious, Carlos used one hand, keeping the other clasping Paraguay's, he undid the twine. His jaw dropped at the contents. At least a dozen coins total, gold and silver.  
>When his eyes returned to Paraguay, the man was staring back him. Carlos was so fucking happy he threw himself the poor guy, crushing him tightly to his chest. The only thing that would have made this perfect would have been some fucking ice cream.<p>

* * *

><p>He was submerged in a sea of pain. It was all he knew for a long time. Distantly, he was aware of something hard nuzzling his cheek. Mr. Puffin? Yes, his friend's beak was against his cheek. Somehow ever since Puffin had been given to him, he was always aware of the bird's feelings and vice-versa. Right now he could feel anxiety and fear flowing through that bond.<p>

What's wrong?

The throbbing in his side came like a wave, cresting at a jolt of movement and then residing with stillness. At some point he floated up enough above the pain to be conscious of his surroundings. He was being carried in strong arms, his body held against a chest. The person holding him was breathing hard. Grass and mulch were crunching under his toes.

Alfred?

He opened his eyes, focusing on the American. Mr. Puffin was perched on his shoulder, rubbing his beak against Dane's cheek. Dane almost chuckled at the comical sight. Mr. Puffin consented to standing on the American's shoulder?

Dane frowned. The American looked frightened. "Where's the horse?" Dane mumbled, his mind fuzzy.

"I sent him in a different direction," He gasped, breathing heavily. "Let the Russians chase after him."

Dane tensed and started to move, asking, "Where's my pack?"

"Relax dude," Alfred said, holding him tighter. Pain pulsed through Dane who stilled. "It's on my back. I didn't forget it."

"Good," Dane said, almost whispered, "It's...impo..."

Alfred adjusted him, painting as he gulped in a few breathes. "Stay with me, Dane," Alfred urged.

Dane? That's not my name.

"What did you say?" Alfred asked. Dane blinked. Did I say that out loud?

"Yes."

That too? Alfred opened his mouth to answer, but stumbled on a root, cursing, "Shit!" The movement sent a fresh wave of pain crashing over Dane, dragging him back under. 

* * *

><p>When he returned, he was lying on the ground, his head propped up on a root. The sky was turning a pale blue as the stars faded away. Dawn? How long was I out? He wondered.<p>

"Sorry...," Alfred wheezed, his hands on his knees, he was bent over panting and gasping for air. "I...can't." Can't what? Alfred was dripping with sweat, his hair plastered to his head. He's exhausted. Alfred wiped droplets of sweat from his brow. "I can't carry...you...like that...no more."

Like what? Then it hit Dane. Alfred had been carrying him bridal-style all night. My God. The American's strength was unreal. Dane wasn't heavy, but he wasn't light and in that position he was nothing but dead weight. What is this man?

A piece of wood was pressed against his lips, "Bite down please," Alfred said, his breath steadier. Dogs were barking in the distance and Alfred glanced over his shoulder, coming back to Dane's with grave concern in his eyes. "We have little time. Please. I have to break the bolt."

Oh no. Dane knew what that meant. Nodding, he bit down, wincing at the taste of bark. Alfred tore the hem of Dane's shirt apart around the bolt, exposing Dane's stomach. The American gripped the bolt and pain shot through Dane, but he knew it was nothing to what was coming.

"I need to carry you on my back, but I can't do it with all of that sticking out of you." Alfred explained as if that would make this easier.

"Hur...ry," Dane managed.

"Ready?" Alfred asked. Dane nodded weakly. His teeth sunk into the wood as the bolt was snapped, his fingernails dug into his palms and then he was gone. Back beneath the churning ocean of agony.

* * *

><p>Dane smelled smoke. A fire was crackling and there was warmth to his right. He smiled, reminded of winter nights huddled around a hearth with chestnuts roasting nearby. For a moment he believed he was back home, then it came back. He was on the run.<p>

He tried to bolt up, but a sharp stab of pain sent him back. Moving is a bad idea. His eyes peered over to where a low fire was burning. Mr. Puffins stood on one side, warming his feather. Alfred sat indian-style on the other, holding something beneath the glowing red embers. Is that a knife? Dane recognized it was his knife.

He's been in my bag. He was surprised Mr. Puffin had allowed the American too, but then given the circumstances. "Welcome back," The American chimed, turning the blade over. One side was blushing red with heat. What's that for? Dane felt sure he didn't want to know.

"Fire...too risky," Dane rasped.

"We're in a cave and I'm keeping it low," Alfred replied. Dane glanced around. How did I miss that? There was stone walls all around him. Some sunlight was streaming in from beyond the top of his head. No doubt the entrance was that way.

"They'll see... the smoke."

"Nah, I managed to get them going off the wrong way," Alfred said, smiling. "No matter, we've got to get the bolt out."

Dane shook his head weakly. "No..."

"You won't heal until we do," Alfred said. Dane had once seen a soldier accidentally get speared through the gut while training. He'd not envied that man, but never had he though he'd be like that man.

"What will you do?" He said, looking at the knife. He meant what's that for?

"I have to burn the wound shut," Alfred explained, "Or you will bleed."

Burn? Dane closed his eyes, nodding very gently. "Do it," he urged.

"I wish I had some whiskey to give you first. To numb the pain. I looked through your bag, sorry about that, but I needed your hunting knife since mine is back with that Cuban," he told Dane, putting another piece of wood to Dane's lips. Dane chomped down on it. "Try not to scream. I won't lie. This will hurt."

Mr. Puffin came beside him, nuzzling against Dane's cheek. Dane shut his eyes, not daring to look as Alfred grabbed what remained of the bolt. Who'd have though the rich, spoiled me would end up like this? He could almost laugh at the irony.

"On the count of three," Alfred said. "Three...two," He pulled and Dane bit down, almost through the wood, his shrieks not entirely muffled. His fingers sank into the dirt as a wave, taller than a mountain, smashed into him, sucking him down.

Somewhere far away as sank into darkness, he was aware of something hot and searing being pressed into his side and the sizzle of burning flesh.

* * *

><p>"Why?" Ivan demanded, glaring at the tree line from his camp. Winter was staying silent, but his orders were clear. Ivan was not allowed to enter that place. As usual Winter was being vague. His only explanation was, "We cannot enter there."<p>

Ivan sensed something else was going on. Winter was waiting for something. But what?

(END OF CHAPTER 11 After the next chapter, you get more smut because the full moon will be HERE! But you have to wait one more chapter as some BIG answers are unveiled in Chapter 12: The Compass and the Tome.)


	12. The Compass and The Tome

Chapter 12

The Compass and the Tome

Something wet and warm was being rubbed onto the left side of his stomach. He winced at the pressure and slowly opened his eyes to see Alfred hunched over him, massaging his palm against Dane's wound.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, raising an eyebrow. Alfred jumped at his voice. Where's Mr. Puffin? The bird must have gone to do something. Judging from the light, it was afternoon now. Where has the day gone?

"Damn, you weren't supposed to see this," he said and despite the pain, Dane craned his neck up to see Alfred's palm covered in blood. My blood? No, he could see Alfred's palm had been sliced open. Alfred tried to laugh it off as he scooted back and picked up a leather pouch of water, uncorking it, he rinsed his hand.

"Why'd you smear blood on me?" Dane asked, his voice hoarse from his earlier screaming, he crinkled his nose in disgust.

"I was hoping you wouldn't see that," Alfred sighed as he capped the water pouch and set it aside. The fire was nothing but heated coals.

Alfred pulled out some gauze and set to bandaging his cut, he said with a smile, "Just trust me. It'll help. I wouldn't move, buddy."

Dane ignored him, grunting at the pain as he pushed up on his elbows a bit to look at the wound. It was an ugly, gnarled lump of burnt flesh right smack in the middle of his left side. Great... a scar. He frowned, staring at the blood smeared over it, watching as it dried and the wound stopped hurting as much. The hell?

"What did you do?"

Alfred sighed, squatting down in front of Dane, he said, "Okay dude, I going to let you in on a little secret but you gotta promise two things: don't freak and you can't tell nobody! Are you ready?" Dane moved his head up and down very weakly as nodding hurt too much. "Okay. My blood... heals."

Dane swore he could almost hear crickets chirping. Finally he broke the silence, saying, "Riiiight."

"No joke. It really does. Here look!" Alfred pushed up the bandages, revealing the cut. It was already healing. That is fast for such a deep cut. Already it looked shallow. "By tomorrow morning it will be gone. I think it's my blood that does it."

"And you're suggesting it will heal my wound too?"

"Not as fast as me. It will still take days, probably weeks, but it will help. Or it always has before."

"And how do you know this?"

"As far back as I can remember I knew, but I never thought it was weird until one day Ma cut herself in the kitchen really bad. I decided to help her. I cut myself and put the blood on her wound. She freaked out and told me to never do that. A day later, though, she noticed how the wounds I'd touched with my blood were healing much faster than the ones that hadn't. She asked me about it and I told her. She got very worried and told me not to tell nobody."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. She said people wouldn't understand. I asked if I could tell Pa and she said that was fine, but by the time he returned it was a week later and I kinda forgot."

"You forgot?"

"What? I get easily distracted and Pa doesn't get hurt often. Still, I worried that people would freak out like Ma. So I kept it to myself. If I used it, I always waited until they were distracted or mixed it with other stuff."

Dane frowned, staring at the ground. Blood that heals. He opened his mouth to ask more, but Mr. Puffin flew in with two big carp in his mouth. Dane and Alfred's stomachs growled, urging them to shut up and eat. 

* * *

><p>Alfred handed Dane his late lunch: fish on a stick. Dane was still munching on a few berries when he took it, wincing as each movement brought another stab of pain. He felt both cold and hot at the same time. Beads of sweat were gathering on his head. Hope it's not a fever.<p>

"How are you doing?" Alfred inquired, looking concerned as he tore into his fish. Puffin had made sure Dane got the bigger fish. Good bird.

"Beside the roaring pain in my side and a possible infection, just fine thank you," Dane replied, his voice still weak.

Alfred chuckled. Mr. Puffin had left to get more fish. "That bird of yours sure is handy. Just look at these fish he caught. I didn't know he could fish."

"He is a Puffin," Dane answered, nibbling on his. He was still laid down. An awkward position to eat in. A low rumbling growl emanated from the the depths of the cave. He tensed, looking that way, he asked, "What was that?"

"What was what?" Alfred said, gulping and ripping off another chunk of fish with his teeth.

"That noise! That growling. Hush, there it is again," He said, pointing toward it.

Alfred cocked an ear, listening to the rustling sounds of something large shifting around, and then he relaxed and shrugged, "Oh, it's just the bears."

Dane froze, staring from the darkness to Alfred. Please let him be joking. "The what?" He demanded, flinching as his voice echoed. He repeated in a lower voice, "The what?"

"The bears," Alfred said, smiling. "Don't mind them. They're just getting ready to hibernate."

Dane had no idea what his expression really was, but in his mind his jaw was hanging down, his face painted with a petrified look of complete shock. What he meant to say was, "What do you mean?", but it came out as a choked garbled sound as he tried to form words.

"Dude, relax," Alfred urged, "What'd you think we were alone or something? This is a pretty nice cave. Something was bound to live here already."

"B-bears?" He stammered. "We're in a cave with bears?"

"Grizzlies to be exact," Alfred answered and Dane almost dropped his fish. "Two of them. A male and female. Real sweet couple."

"You are insane," he whispered.

"Just figured that out?" Alfred winked at him.

"W-we need to go," Dane said, but sank back down realizing the futility of trying to get up.

"Wow, wow, don't do that," Alfred said, "Besides don't worry. I worked it out with them earlier."

"You what?"

"Yeah, they were kinda grumpy about us staying," He said, rolling his eyes, "Bears! But I got them convinced. We had a tickle contest and I totally kicked their ass. Nobody out tickles Alfred F. Jones." He flashed those pearly whites and jerked a thumb at his chest.

"You...what...grizzlies?" Dane gasped, feeling like his heart would give out at any moment. "We are in a cave with grizzlies?"

"Dude, relax, it's no big deal. I've taken care of it. They won't bother us."

"I can't... you," Dane mumbled, unable to form a coherent thought. He spotted his bow and quiver leaned against the cave wall next to the American. A lot of good that would do against a grizzly. "You...bears...cave...bears," He went on repeat.

"Uh, great," Alfred said, sighing, "I think I broke you." Alfred perked up, holding up a forefinger. "I know! Why don't they come here and then you can tickle them?"

"NO!" Dane said, wincing as his voice echoed with an "Oh, oh, oh,". More growls came, but they settled down. "I mean no thank you," he squeaked.

"Man, you sound just like Ma and Pa," Alfred muttered, shaking his head. "They never got it either. They were always, 'don't play tag with the wolves', 'don't piggyback on the boars', or 'don't wrestle the mountain lions'. Blah, blah, blah. They never let me have any fun with my friends."

Wrestle the mountain lions? "It's called sanity, Alfred. Try it sometime," he responded.

"Eh." Alfred shrugged, licking the grease off his stick and tossing it into the coals.

Dane finished his meal in his silence, his eyes now glued toward the black depths of the cave, hunting for any sign of movement. Terrified that one of those "cuddly", as Alfred seemed to think, grizzlies might come charging out at any moment. 

* * *

><p>By late evening the fire was now nothing but ash and a few low burning coals. Dane was chewing on one of his licorice pieces, his eyes constantly darting toward the back end of the cave. Alfred sighed. He's overreacting. People were always like that when it came to animals.<p>

"Sun sets in another hour and then we go," Alfred said. "It's best if we move under the cover of night." Also tonight was a full moon and he was determined not to sleep. He had rested some today while Dane was passed out. Carrying Dane would keep him awake, he was sure and then Ivan wouldn't be able to reach him.

Dane had requested his pack and so Alfred had placed it next to him and helped eased the boy up into a sitting position, putting his jacked behind Dane so he could be somewhat more comfortable. When Dane wasn't chewing on his licorice or sleeping, he was reading from some thick, leather-bound book he'd gotten out of his bag.

Why does he lug that around? Alfred had asked, but Dane just replied that it was important. He also had out a brass compass that he kept checking. What's Dane looking for? Alfred wondered. When it was too dark to read, Dane set the book down and looked at him.

"Alfred," He whispered.

"You can talk louder. It won't disturb them," Alfred assured.

Dane continued in a low voice, "Why is Ivan after you?"

"I could ask the same of you. He recognized you."

"I asked first," Dane replied. Damn.

"Okay, fine. Ya know that Subjugation crap?"

"Yes."

"He kinda did that to me."

"What?" Dane said, his eyebrows curving downward in a sympathetic look. "That's dreadful."

"Well, it wasn't so bad," Alfred cleared his throat, looking away, he tugged at his shirt collar a bit. Images of some of his intimate times with Ivan flashed through his head. Is it hot in here? "Anyhoo, once he got a taste of me, well, he naturally couldn't get enough." What mortal could? He grinned.

Dane raised an unamused eyebrow, stating, "He must be very taken with you to chase you all the way here in person and put such a high bounty on your head."

"Bounty? What bounty?" Alfred asked, sitting up straight. "I have a bounty? That's cool! Just like an outlaw! Outlaw Jones. I like the ring of that!"

"How can you be happy about it?" Dane demanded. "What about your family? It puts them in danger."

"How so?" He asked, tilting his head.

"The name Jones was on the poster."

Alfred snorted with laughter.

"What is so humorous?"

"Do you know how many Jones there are in the Americas? I'll give you a clue. It's about as common as Smith. Can't go most places without tripping over another Jones."

"So you're saying there is little chance of them connecting it to your family?"

"Almost none," Alfred said, "Although Ivan does have a way of knowing," He frowned, his brow furrowing. He was glad he'd warned Pa. He brightened up, "Still, I think they'll be okay. We Jones are tough!"

"Your optimism is astounding," Dane said, turning his head from side to side.

"Thanks!" He beamed, puffing out his chest. Dane rolled his eyes.

"So is that the only reason? Why were you subjugated? Were you some kind of Lord?"

"No, not quite," He admitted, "But the fully story would mean sharing more than just my secrets. I don't think that's right so sorry dude. I can only tell you what is about me. Like I can tell you why I'm here."

"You're searching for the Fairyland," Dane stated.

"Yeah, but why am I?"

There was a pause, Dane's frown increasingly grew and finally he asked, "Well? Are you going to tell me?"

"No, not until you promise to tell me some of your secrets too. Fair's fair."

"Well, fine. I'll promise I'll tell my share next."

With a nod, Alfred continued, "I'm here because apparently a long time ago this huge eyebrow King," He held his hands a foot away from either side of his face. Yeah, they were that big. "He found me in these woods. So I believe."

"Huge eyebrows?" Dane frowned and then snapped a finger. "You mean King Arthur!"

"Yeah, that was him."

"King Arthur found you in the woods? I never heard about that and I combed through stories about the Yellowstone woods. Wait," He said, snapping a finger, "Are you Prince...er...Mer...Mercedes? No, what was it? Are you the Prince of Canada?" Shit! So much for leaving Matthew out. Hmm... I remembered his name. It was weird how that worked.

"Don't be silly! Alfred chuckled, "Me and that guy are totally unrelated. No connection whatsoever. Whatever gave you that idea?" Grin. C'mon eat it up!

Dane's eyes narrowed and he said, "Really? Because when I try to remember his face. I kept thinking of yours."

"Oh, can't get me outta your head? I have that effect on people," He laughed very heartily and changed the subject, "So that's my story. Now how about you? 'Fess up!"

Dane's expression became very somber and so did his tone as he spoke, "I am not Dane."

"I got that earlier," Alfred admitted. "What's your real name?"

Dane took in a deep breathe, "My real name is Emil Bondevik and I...," he locked eyes with Alfred, "...was the King of Iceland. I am the man that brought it to ruin."

Now it was Alfred's turn to chuckle in disbelief, but it faded fast at Dane's face. "Really? You're the King?"

"Was the King," Emil corrected. "You can't be king of a wasteland."

"What did you do?"

"I told you."

"When?"

"Before! Remember the sparkly fire! The... for Heaven's sake is your memory that bad?"

Alfred scratched at his temple and then he remembered, pointing at Emil, "Oh yeah! You tried to poison Ivan! You're the miserable coward!" He said enthusiastically.

"Thanks," Dane said, eyebrow twitching.

"Oh, Emil... Emilio! Can I call you that?"

"No."

"What about Emily?"

"NO!"

"Fine," Alfred sighed, "So Emil."

"I'd prefer Dane since that is my cover."

"But you don't call me Alfonso anymore," Alfred whined.

"Fair enough. I'll call you Al from now."

"That's not fair!"

"Pick a better identity then! No, not now!" He muttered as Alfred was opening his mouth for a new name. Damn he's fast.

"Whatever, so Dane I didn't mean I though you were a coward. I think that took a lot of guts standing up to Ivan."

"Spare me your comfort," Dane said dismissively, but there was the faintest hint of a smile, "It was my fault. I did it for my brother's sake, but it all went wrong. I just have to live with that and hope I can make things right."

"Is that why you seek the Fairyland?"

Emil nodded. "I want to find a way to lift Winter's curse."

"Finding the Fairy land," Alfred smiled, rubbing at the nape of his neck. "About that? Got any ideas?"

"So how were you going to find it without me?"

Alfred shrugged, "I don't know. Guess I was just gonna show up and look around. See if I find anything."

"That was your whole plan? Just show up and hope things work out?" Emil asked.

"I know brilliant, right?"

"That's not a plan!"

"But it worked. I ran into you and you have a plan," Alfred pointed out.

"I can't believe you," Emil stated. "And we'll yes I do." He held up the brass compass, popping its lid open. The glass front was grimy and there were scratches and chips in the front. "I have this."

"A compass? Cool. Can I see?" Alfred chirped, stepping over, but Emil held it close to his chest.

"No, you may not. This is not a toy," He warned.

"I know that. I have my own compass. Well, I guess now it's that bastard Cuban's compass," He muttered, pissed about that. The biggest loss though was his hunting knife that his pops had given him a long time ago. He'd one day if he got the chance pay that Cuban a visit.

"Al, this is no ordinary compass. This one was made by a very powerful sorcereress. Her name was Morgan Le Fay and she was apprentice to Merlin."

"Morgan, isn't that guy's name?"

"Pay attention! According to legend, she got ahold of a strand of Lady Summer's hair and put it inside this compass so that it would point the way to her."

"And that leads to this Fairyland, how?"

Emil tapped on the cover of the book, "You see this? This isn't an ordinary book either. It's a tome. Morgan made it while she was Merlin's apprentice, secretly copied from his original tome and according to this, Lady Summer lives in the Fairyland of the Yellowstone Woods. Find her and you find it."

"That's great. Than we just use the compass? It'll be a snap," He said, beaming. This is getting easier and easier.

"That's the problem. It should be, but I think something is wrong with the compass," he confessed. "It keeps pointing to two different things, one most of all."

"Really? Well, why not just go to the one that's most of all."

"I did," Emil answered, holding the compass up, in the fading light, Alfred saw that its gold needle was pointing at him. That can't be.

He stepped to the right, it followed; he moved to the left, same thing. "What gives?" He asked, pointing at himself. "Why's it pointing at me?"

"That is what Mr. Puffin and I have been trying to figure out since it lead us to you."

"But I'm not Lady Summer. I'm not even a woman. I don't think" He said, patting himself down. You could never be too sure. No, no boobs. "Yeah, not a lady."

Dane groaned. "I know that, Al. But the closer you came to us, the more fixed it became on you. When I first entered the Americas the needle would swing between the Yellowstone Woods and Canada. It was frustrating to say the least. I stopped for a few days, pouring through the Tome, trying to discover my mistake, but I could find nothing to explain this. I decided to go to the Yellowstone Woods but as I traveled there, the needle began to insistently point in a different direction until one day I decided to follow it.

And it led us to you."

"Is it my glasses?" He said, patting himself down. "Do I have something metal?"

"Al," he muttered. "Think about it. You said you were found by Arthur in those woods. You have blood that heals. Perhaps you are connected to Lady Summer."

"How does my blood have anything to do with this?"

"Because, Al, she is the the Master of Life. The Eternal with ultimate healing. As long as the spark of life exists she can restore a body with her blood and essence. It is quite the coincidence that you have healing blood like her, don't you agree?"

"Does she have super-strength too?"

"S-super strength?" He blinked. "Er, I, I don't know about that. I have never heard, but maybe?" He shrugged. "Still you must admit to a connection."

"I don't have to admit to anything," He said stubbornly, holding out his hand. "May I see that compass? I swear under all the best burgers of this world, may I never touch another burger if I lie, that I will not break or damage it in anyway."

Emil relented and handed it to him, adding, "It's one of a kind."

"I got that," Alfred said, studying it, "So was your life. By the way, I didn't thank you for saving me."

"And I the same. Shall we call it even?"

Alfred smiled and nodded, his brows drawing together in concentration.

"What's wrong?" Emil said, wanting to get up, but that would be agony.

"Now would you look at that?" Alfred said, holding the compass for Emil to see. Despite how dark it had become, it was unmistakable that the needle now pointed North. "I think we just fixed your compass."

"You can't be serious," Emil said, taking it back. It pointed at Alfred. He handed it back to it Alfred and shifted north. "You mean this whole time?"

"You should have just trusted me," Alfred said, grinning. Emil groaned, beating his head lightly against the rock wall. "You know it doesn't surprise me that it needed me to be holding it. Coz, well it's me."

He winked, giving it back to Emil who had a full-on eye twitch going as Alfred winked and gathered his stuff. It was time to go. "To the Fairyland we go! Hi ho! Hi Ho!" Alfred chimed.

(Okay I cut this chapter in half. Next time, you get more info-revealed. Stay-tuned for Part Two of Chapter 12: The Compass and The Tome)


	13. The Compass and the Tome pt 2

Chapter 13

The Compass and The Tome (Part 2)

Alfred hid his shiver. He didn't even hug himself until he was well out of sight from Emil who he left laying against a large rock. He didn't want Emil knowing since it had taken all his powers of persuasion to get the boy to wear his brown jacket. Emil needed it more than him. The boy was looking worse; despite Alfred's best efforts, Emil was still getting jostled around as he carried him.

He needs to stay in a warm place and rest. Alfred unbuttoned his pants and relieved himself on a tree. He flinched at the distant sound of dogs barking, but it faded off. The Russians were far off, but not as much as they had seemed yesterday and that worried Alfred.

Also he didn't like the bark of dogs. Not that he didn't love wolves and dogs, but for some reason their barking made his heart speed up and his breathing become hard. He'd often wondered why, but after Mattie's story, he'd begun to wonder. Was it because of that? If that was him that day when Mattie was found, then did a part of him still remember being eaten? He hoped not.

Closing up his trousers, he was just turning to head back when something caught his eye. As he saw her a warm breeze touched his face and rustled the plants around him. He just stared his mouth opening in a soundless scream as he realized what was standing several feet away staring at him. A woman in a white dress and she was glowing.

* * *

><p>Emil almost nodded off, but he was snapped out of it by a loud, crashing sound. Alfred burst out of the trees, yelling, "G-g-g-g!" and he threw himself onto Emil, hugging him and pinning Emil's arms to his sides.<p>

"Ngghh," Emil managed, cringing in pain. That idiot! Alfred buried his face in Emil's chest, clinging to him like one clutches to a log in a flood. It might have been comical if not for Alfred being right on his wound.

"Get...off," He wheezed, sweat beading on his brow. Alfred his shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut.

"G-g-g-g-g-g.." Alfred stuttered, his breathing erratic. He opened his eyes, looking over his shoulder and then all around, his eyes fervent and darting this way and that. Now Emil was getting concerned. Mr. Puffin flew on top of the large rock behind Emil and he could feel the bird was anxious too.

"G-g-g...grizzly?" He whispered in alarm, eyes flickering around, but Alfred shook his head and buried his face further. Emil frowned and in a low voice, asked, "Then what?"

Alfred drew in a large breath, held it, and slowly released. When he was calm, he met Emil's gaze, his eyes still wide with panic, and he warned, "W-w-whatever you, don't panic." Oh shit! What is it? Emil leaned forward as much as his pain allowed him, sure he'd need his bow and quiver. Is it the Russians? "I-I-I s-s-saw...," Alfred stammered, swallowing hard, "A...a...g-g-ghost."

Emil stiffened, but not from fear. Oh no, this was an entirely different emotion. This was complete and utter disbelief. Is this some kind of joke? "A what?" He demanded, his eyebrow twitching.

"Don't make me repeat it," Alfred whimpered, "S-s-something white and floaty is out there!"

"Get off me now," Emil ordered, trying to free his arms, but Alfred wouldn't let up.

"I c-can't! I have to save you from her!" Alfred insisted, shaking his head, his nose brushing across Emil's chest.

"Her?"

"The glowy, floaty woman!" He answered, dropping his voice, "The ghost!"

"The ghost? And you're sure that's what you saw? It couldn't have been anything else?" Alfred shook his head vigorously.

"And where did you see her?" To Emil's immense relief, Alfred released one of his arms and pointed behind him. Emil put his freed hand on Alfred's shoulder, patting him. A scared Alfred was a pain. "You sure she wasn't something else? Like maybe a Russian?"

"No way, dude. She looked way too sad to be one of them."

"Sad?" He repeated, wondering why Russians couldn't be sad, but he was in no mood to figure out Alfred's line of logic on that.

"Maybe she's a banshee," Alfred gasped, seemingly about to cry. Good Lord! He's such a baby when it comes to spirits. "Are ghosts supposed to be all gloomy like that?"

"I have no idea," Emil responded, grimacing as Alfred shifted. "Could you please get off?"

"But I'm protecting you!"

"You're on my wound!" Emil said.

"Oh!" Alfred gasped, all but jumping off as he sat back on the grass, huddling in on himself, his knees against his chest. "Sorry about that. Sometimes I get carried away being the hero," He laughed nervously, his eyes trying to look everywhere at once. There was a nervous titter to his voice. He almost shrieked when an owl hooted nearby.

"Indeed," Emil said wryly. "I'm surprised you have such a weakness. Are all Americans scared of ghosts?"

"Scared?" Alfred huffed, sounding affronted. "What are you talking about? Who said I was scared?" He jumped as that owl hooted again. Emil raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not even going to argue you with that," Emil said.

"Maybe," Alfred suggested, leaning in, "We should just give up on this for now. You know, head somewhere safe and wait until you're better and the Russians are gone."

"No," Emil replied, frowning, "I will not turn back now. Not when we're so close."

"But Emil," He whined, "This place is haunted!"

"Don't worry Al, they won't bother you when I'm around." A bit of a lie. Emil knew next to nothing about ghosts and how they worked, but from what he understood magic could affect them.

"What can you do against ghosts?" Alfred pouted. "They like pass through walls and shit!"

"They have rules like everyone else," Emil answered, "I'm not agreeing that's what you saw, but like everything in Hetalia they can't just do whatever they want."

"What are their rules?"

Damn, I was hoping he wouldn't ask that. Emil only knew a few vague things he'd read, slapping that together, he replied, "Well, for one thing, er, they can't communicate with the dead by spoken word. They cannot cry."

"Why not?" Alfred asked, leaning forward with interest. His voice had a hopeful twinge.

"Er... they just can't."

"But why do they exist? Why are there ghosts? Shouldn't they just move on?"

Like hell if I know. But he needed to sound like he knew, so taking on a knowing tone, he continued, "There's not much written on the subject that has survived. Subjects like ghosts are considered a part of Death Magic and that is Winter's domain. Few Norwegian or British spell casters were interested in meddling in his area. The best one can find are in translations from Russian texts."

"Russians?" Alfred asked suspiciously.

"Russian mages were once the best in that field. They were loyal servants of Winter. It is said Winter shared his deepest secrets with them, but that is all over now."

"Why?"

"Well, according to stories, they betrayed him. Turned against Winter and don't ask me what they did. All I know and all that is mentioned is that by turning on Winter, they saved the world."

"Saved the world? The Russians?" Alfred guffawed. "That's nuts."

"Anyhow," Emil said, rolling his eyes, "Ghosts can be made in many ways, but the really powerful ones can appear as the result of True Sacrifice."

"You're explaining that right? It doesn't sound good though if it can make ghosts." Emil groaned.

"Obviously," He answered, "And contrary to what you think it's actual a very noble deed and a rare one. There are many forms of sacrifice, but the four main ones are Forced Sacrifice, the weakest, Partial, where ones life hovers close to death, Full, where one submits to it yet their soul does not, and True, the total surrender of body and soul to protecting something. After such a deed, the magic generated is enough for some spirits, especially if magical in nature, to choose not to leave this world. Are you yawning?"

"No," Alfred said innocently, covering his mouth to hide it. "Just cooling my mouth." Liar. "So why would any ghost choose not to leave this world?"

"Who knows. Maybe unfinished business?"

"Unfinished business?" Alfred repeated. "That doesn't make sense. That ghost has no business with me. Right?"

"What? Why do you think I know?"

"'Coz you know everything!" Alfred chirped, grinning again. "You're my answers man!"

I want to hurt him. "Well, if y-."

"Wait," Alfred interrupted, scratching at his temple, "One thing I don't get. How does sacrificing generate magic?"

Emil glanced up, the moon had risen and he could see it through the trees. That was good. Now maybe Alfred would stop whining about how hard it was to see the compass' needle in the dark.

"That's the way magic works. Magic comes from the energy given off by state transition. For instance, the shifting of life into death, death into life. Birth, growth, the coming of the tide. All these things give off an energy. One that the Eternals were made to harvest and convert to magic. And there was no greater source for magic than the passing of one season into another. But that all ended when Winter defied his role and broke the cycle. Would you stop yawning!" He snapped.

"Sorry, dude. Can't help it," Alfred said sleepily. "Your voice is kinda drony. You got that one-tone thing going on. Ouch!" He yelped when Emil pinched his arm.

"Sorry, my fingers slipped. You're the one who keeps asking about all this."

"No, I really am interested. I just have a ten-second attention span, but please continue. I'm fighting it for you!" He said, giving a thumbs up.

Emil shook his head. Should I be insulted or touched? "There's not much more. The cycle was broken. Summer and Winter warred. The land was decimated and Merlin cursed humans to forget it all."

"I don't get that. Why'd Merlin do that? Aren't people better off remembering the past?"

"Well, there was another problem," Emil replied. "Though some magic naturally forms even without the Eternals, enough maybe for charm magic like changing eye color," He paused as Alfred made a choking noise. Strange fellow. "But not enough to support full magical beings and barely enough for partially magical. If you put human spell casting in the picture, than even the partially magical creatures wouldn't have a chance."

"Why not?"

"Human spell casting consumes a lot. If anything was to survive, human spellcraft had to be eliminated. Merlin did just that by using his curse to make humans stop believing in it and thus stop consuming it."

"How come you don't seem affected?"

"Ah, because I have a talent for magic."

"Oh, did you learn that? Can you teach me?" Alfred asked eagerly, deflating as Emil shook his head.

"Anyone can cast spells, but without enough magic to perform it, nothing will happen. Only those with the Talent can convert energy into magic on their own."

"Oh, you can do that?"

"To a small level, yes. But I'm not near as powerful as my brother is and even he can't compare, as he told me, to King Arthur's talent. He once told me that if King Arthur had been born in an age less ignorant of magic, he easily would have been the next Merlin."

"Wow, I have no idea what that means, but sounds cool," Alfred laughed, beaming. "So Arthur had a compass too, right?"

"I... don't believe so. This compass was never supposed to exist."

"Then...," Alfred's brow furrowed in thought, "How did he find it, if he did that is?"

"By Merlin's tome I suspect. He had the original after all."

"Actually what does this door look like? Does it make explosions and sparkle when opened?"

"It's nothing special. It just looked like a tree cleaved in two by lightening, one that never rots and is surrounded by mushrooms. It is heavily enchanted so humans cannot find it."

"But we can because we have the compass, right?" Alfred grinned.

Maybe. I hope so. "Of course," he answered, nodding.

"So you said this stuff is Norway's and one of a kind. Pretty cool of yer bro to lend it?" Alfred stated. Emil coughed and looked away. "He did lend it?"

"Well, er, I," Emil said, feeling very hot, "I have no excuse," He relented. "When I learned of them, I wanted to break Iceland's curse, but I feared he would say no."

"So you stole them?"

Emil winced and nodded, correcting, "I prefer borrowed. But yes. He probably loathes me now."

"Loathes means hate, right?" Alfred inquired. Oh Alfred.

"Yes," Emil answered.

"He's your bro right? You're close."

"We were as kids, but not anymore. We had to live apart for a long time. We became estranged. I was surprised he took me in at all given the risks."

"Why surprised? Of course, family is family," Alfred stated. "I can relate. I only recently found my real brother. All my other siblings aren't by blood, but their family all the same to me."

"You mean the Jones? None of the Jones children are related to each other?"

"I didn't say that. Mary L and Penny are nieces to Ma, but yeah everyone was adopted. Ma couldn't have kids of her own so she and Pa started adopting. I don't know the full story, but Ma was really happy to have raised us."

"Your lucky in a way to have such a close family," Emil said. Though personally he cherished his private time something Alfred clearly rarely got in that household.

"Yeah, I agree," Alfred laughed, "But that's not what I was trying to say. So my real brother and I only recently hooked up again. But I'd still cross coals for him if you know what I mean. Its awkward between us, but already I feel like I'd do anything to protect him. I think your older bro would feel the same way. I bet he doesn't loathe you at all. I'm sure he's just worried about you."

"A nice fantasy," He said, glancing up. The moon now almost above the trees. "Well we'd better be off." They both flinched at dogs barking. They were lot closer than before.

"Did they find our scent?" Alfred said worriedly, standing up out of the shadows, he stared at his arm and then up to the sky.

"What?" Emil said. "It's just moonlight."

Alfred's eyes went wide and he whispered, "I don't feel..." he stumbled and clutched his head.

"Al?" Emil said, wincing. To his horror Alfred's eyes rolled up and he toppled over with an "oof" onto the soft grass. "AL?" Emil hissed, fighting the pain as he got up and hobbled over. Waves of nausea rolled through him. "Al?" He whispered, hearing the Russians coming their way, but Alfred was out cold.

This is bad.

* * *

><p>Shit.<p>

Alfred was back in that stone corridor of many doors. The worst part though was how, deep down, Alfred was excited at the thought of seeing Ivan as if his body was starved for his Snowflake's attention.

"Damn," He muttered, "Let's get this over with." Picking a door, it didn't matter which since they all led to the same damn room with a balcony, he kicked it open and bolted inside.

He had a plan.

(END OF CHAPTER 13. So an eons-old tragedy still haunts the present. Yeah, hope you enjoyed Emil's lecture about it. Were you paying attention? Don't make me pop-quiz you guys! Believe it or not some big things get mentioned and Alfred meets a mysterious figure in the dream. Who could this be? Chapter 14: The Mysterious Boy)


	14. The Rescue

(Sorry Chapter 14 is missing. I can't find it. At some point Alfred gets free of the dream only to find that Emil has been kidnapped. )

Chapter 15

Operation ***k with Russia!

Mr. Puffin

Emil woke to that thought. He was sitting on the grass, his back against a tent pole, his arms bound behind him to the pole. A lantern was in the left corner of the tent and outside, through the thin material of the flap he could see a camp fire and two tents on either side of it. Several men were out there.

Six. I counted six when they caught me.

The back of his skull was throbbing where they'd hit him and his ears were still ringing. Sitting in this position wasn't helping with any of his any injuries. Memories came back as his mind knitted together the course of events that led to here.

Alfred had passed out and when he couldn't wake him no matter what he tried, he had shoved the boy under some bushes along with his pack. The Russians had been closing in and he had run off, hoping to lead them away.

That part had been easy as it turned out it was Emil's scent the dogs were after. Getting away had been impossible in the end. He couldn't run in his condition and had almost passed out several times from the pain, his wound had re-opened, making things worse.

Some bawdy laughter snapped him back to the present and he saw a large shape approaching. The Pig-Captain. That was how he saw him. The man had a very pig-like face. He wore a thick wool cap with thin blonde-hair sticking out from under it. His breathing was heavy and raspy, each intake of breathe ended with a grunt or what Emil though of as an oink.

Dropping his head, Emil shut his eyes and slowed his breathing, hoping the Pig-Captain would think him still unconscious. He heard the flap open and the man step in, chuckling as he did or what Emil thought of as oink, oink, oink.

"Ah, welcome King Emil," The Captain snickered. Emil despised him. This was the man that hurt, maybe even killed, Mr. Puffin. "You are awake, da?" He grabbed Emil by the hair and yanked up his head.

Emil met the Captain's brown eyes. "You hurt Mr. Puffin."

"Ah, your bird friend?" The Captain leered. That expression made Emil sick. He wore that same face then...

Mr. Puffin was in mid-dive when the flat of the blade from the Captain's spear smacked him, throwing his body hard into the foliage. "No!" Emil cried, fighting to reach him, but the Russians held him back. "Let me go!"

The Pig-Captain was laughing as Emil bit and clawed at his captors, but the Pig-Captain's face turned to pain when Emil got his leg free and delivered a swift kick to the man's crotch. He smirked as the man doubled over in pain, but his triumph didn't last long. Something hard hit the back of Emil's head, knocking him out.

"Where is he? What did you do?" Emil demanded, struggling against his bonds. The pain in his head was making it difficult to focus and feel if Mr. Puffin's connection was there.

"The little bird?" The Pig-Captain asked, his lower lip jutting out in a pout, "We gave him to the dogs."

"No!" Emil screamed, his ankles bound were bound together. "You bastard!" No! Not Mr. Puffin! He could cry. Inside he was, but he would never give this monster the satisfaction of seeing his tears.

"Aw, sad for your little bird?" The Pig-Captain taunted. I hate you!

Another soldier came in and unfurled a leather cloth, revealing an assortment of knives, hooks, and various sharp objects. Torture implements. The soldier left them and went back out.

"Ah, you like my comrades?" The Captain mused, glancing at the items affectionately. "I like them too. We are eager to know you, little Lord." His tone was mocking. "Now where is your friend, Alfred?"

Emil was grateful his face portrayed no expression. There were advantages to being dead of expression.

Emil glared at the Captain. "Who?" He asked, "I don't kn-." Smack. The Captain had slapped him. Colored spots speckled Emil's vision and he licked his lower lip, tasting blood.

"I hate liars, comrade," The Captain sneered. "A pity I will ruin that pretty face, but our Benevolent Lord Ivan wants your friend and I must deliver. So you will tell me where he is or you will become very close to my comrades." With that he turned to the laid out items, giggling. Always the giggling. Is that a Russian thing or has he just spent too much time around Ivan?

The Captain picked up a small knife with a hook at the end and began sharpening it on a leather strap. He showed it to Emil, letting it glint in the lantern light, he said, "This is my favorite. I call him Ripper. I think you can guess what he is for."

Emil swallowed hard. He was in big trouble.

* * *

><p>I miss Eduard.<p>

Raivis had been thinking that ever since Eduard got promoted to being Ivan's right-hand man and though he was happy for this friend, he still missed him.

While the other soldiers were distracted eating and drinking around the fire, Raivis grabbed his spear and slipped off into the woods. It wasn't just for privacy; he didn't want to hear what was about to happen in the Captain's tent. That poor boy.

Raivis had worked with this Captain before and knew what the Captain's victims looked like afterwards. He shuddered, pitying the poor King of Iceland, he moved fifteen feet off into the brush. Finding a nice tree, he set his spear down and huddled against it, resting his chin on his knees. He stuck his fingers in his ears and shut his eyes, imagining himself back home. Back with his family.

I want to go home. That was another thought he had often.

Last night after they knocked out the King, the Captain had sent Raivis to find the bird, but Raivis had been unable. It had disappeared into the underbrush. Something Raivis had been grateful for. The Captain, however, had been furious. The King had humiliated him after all.

Raivis wondered if Ivan knew just how sadistic the Captain was. Everyone assumed so, but Raivis had his doubts. Ivan had a way of ignoring unpleasant truths. Though Ivan said he enjoyed torture, there was a resigned air about the man like he'd just convinced himself he did. Before Alfred, no one had ever seen Ivan look happy. It made Raivis wonder if Ivan could have been a very kind person in another life.

The Captain, however, loved torture. It made him very happy. He got rock-hard from it and if it wasn't for clever Eduard, Raivis would have been one of his "relief" soldiers long ago.

But Eduard's gone, whispered a more honest part of Raivis' mind. Raivis knew that, with no Eduard to shield him, he was was wide open and the Captain would come for him. When he finished with the Icelander, he would summon Raivis and make him submit.

Raivis wanted to cry. He wanted to escape. Run away from this madness.

So why don't you? Asked the braver part of Raivis.

He opened his eyes, staring up at the small patch of starry sky he could see through the forest canopy. "I-I can't," He whispered. "I'll be killed. I'll be alone." That's right. He'd never see Eduard or his family again. He'd have to live in exile. "The forest would kill me."

Since they had entered this forest, it had felt like the wildlife had it in for them. Snakes, spiders, even maggots had a way of getting into their gear, bedding, and food. They had even been attacked by boars. If he was alone, he'd be dead within minutes.

How do you know? Asked his braver part. The part he often ignored.

"I j-just do," He stammered.

But you could be free, it said.

"Free?" He whispered that word. What would that be like? Growing up in the shadow of Russia, he had never known freedom. Everything had been coated with fear. His whole life had been about not getting noticed, not making waves, and doing what he was told. Living by my own decisions. Raivis couldn't imagine it.

"No," he muttered, "You're being stupid." That's right. He was weak, helpless Raivis who couldn't do anything for himself. He wasn't meant to dream. He was trapped in this fate.

Trapped with these other soldiers who were as cruel as the Captain in their own way. The only decent among them had been Yelstin and Dimitri who were dead now. The Captain had made certain of that.

The dogs had led them yesterday to a cave and those two had been volunteered to check it out. They had come back with a blood-stained rag that would later lead the dogs to the Icelander King, but that hadn't been enough for the Captain. The Captain had ordered to go back in and search.

They must have found something because next came their screaming and bears roaring. They had pleaded for help, but the Captain just order everyone to leave. We abandoned them.

No, you abandoned them, said his more honest part.

There was nothing I could do. I was under orders, He defended meekly, but still the knot of guilt burned in his chest. The sounds of their cries as they were mauled. The Captain did nothing, just had everyone follow the dogs.

I deserved to be raped, he thought. For abandoning them.

He frowned, noticing some strange sounds. Removing his fingers, noise flooded back in and he shot to his feet, grabbing his spear. Growling? He peered around the tree, his eyes widening in shock.

Bears were ravaging the camp, knocking soldiers aside like toys. Two of them. Grizzlies. Did they follow us? His throat went dry with fear. The dogs were barking and yipping at them, but were ignored by the bears who ripped up tents and tore things asunder.

I should, he moved to go there, but stopped.

Why? The wiser part of his mind asked. He had loyalty to none of those soldiers. They, too, had joked about using Raivis for "relief" since they had no time to find "comfort" with whores in that American town.

He stared into the deep woods, his heart beating fast. He flinched when the Captain screamed, an unmistakable pig-like squeal. "Enough," He breathed, tightening his grip on the spear. "I've had enough." He wiped the tears out of his eyes and whispered, "Goodbye Eduard," and then he fled into the darkness, never looking back.

* * *

><p>"And this...," The Captain trailed off, licking a small blade, "We save for last." Emil looked away at the lewd expression the Captain was giving him. This creature is a disease. "Such a pity about your pretty face," He sighed, putting the item back. He picked up a new, equally menacing item. "We'll comrade. Shall we begin? How about we use Scalper first?"<p>

Ugh, Emil steeled himself for what was coming as the Captain leaned forward with Scalper, a sudden crashing noise, snapped both of them to the campfire outside. Something growled, the very ground shaking from it, and then the right tent collapsed, a large beast bursting through it, trampling it.

The hell?

The Captain flinched, his face stunned as a second beast barreled into the camp. The soldiers were scrambling for their weapons, shouting and screaming. Emil had only the outlines of things and their silhouettes to see by, but what he saw was horrifying. One of the creatures swatted a man aside like he was rag doll and stood up on its haunches, roaring. It was then that Emil realized what they were.

Grizzlies? But how?

He was frightened beyond words. The Captain shot him a terrified look and crept to the tent flap, petrified, he simply watched. Scumbag! This was the leader of those men and he was staying here huddled up.

"Going to help them?" Emil snarled, knowing the creep wouldn't.

"I-I have to guard you," He stammered, frozen against the flap like that would protect him from the carnage outside.

Emil snorted, growling, "You're pathetic!" Your men are dying! The Captain ignored him, too busy quivering in fear against the tent flap.

Emil opened his mouth to taunt more, but a hand clamped over it and he turned left to see Alfred, the fire and lantern light gleaming on his glasses. Never had Emil been so happy to see that smile. He sliced open Emil's ropes, freeing his hands.

Seeing how dazed and hurt Emil was, coupled to the face that Emil's feet were still bound, he picked him up and crept to the back. Emil watched over Alfred's shoulder. The Captain never noticed them ducking out under the back of the tent. Idiot.

Alfred jogged, holding Emil who remained transfixed on the attack, watching the grizzlies rampage through the camp. He had the satisfaction of seeing the Captain's tent ripped off and the Captain squealing like a pig as the Grizzle stood up over him. He never saw the finish as the trees cut it off, but he heard the man's shriek.

"Did you do that?" He whispered to Alfred.

"Kinda," Alfred chirped. "It was the grizzlies. They are awesome back-up. Sorry I took so long. I had to run back to the cave and convince them to make me a little diversion."

"Al, that's not a diversion. That's a massacre!"

"Relax," Alfred assured, "I told them to play nice. No killing if they can help it. I made them pinky promise and if those soldiers are smart they'll give up after this."

"A big if," Emil said, grateful Alfred was on his side. Emil didn't feel that sorry for them. Those were the people who'd been about to pull his fingernails off and had hurt Mr. Puffin, but still...

"Mr. Puffin," He choked, the emotion bubbling out of him. His face as lifeless as ever, but he was still feeling it. "They..."

"He's alive," Alfred said.

"He is?" Emil gasped, lighting up with hope.

"Yup, I found him in the nick of time! I patched him up and gave him my blood."

"It works on animals?"

"It has before. It works faster on small creatures so he should be right as rain in a couple days."

"Really? Oh, thank you!" Emil said, glad his face didn't show what a blubbering mess he was inside. "I'm so relieved." When the pain in his head subsided, he was sure he would feel Mr. Puffin again.

"No problem that's what heroes are for!" Alfred chirped. "But you know what I really want to try one day?"

Emil didn't care. He leaned his head against Alfred's shoulders. The American liked talking for some reason and Emil was fine to oblige him and too tired to stop him.

"What?" He asked tiredly.

"Sailing," Alfred answered. "Then I can meet one of those giant fish with blow holes."

Emil frowned. "You mean whales? Those aren't fishes."

"Yeah, I wanna friend those too. They'd be amazing back-up like the grizzlies!"

Emil sighed. "You want to befriend a whale?" This American. He wasn't sure who was crazier, Ivan or Alfred. They are the perfect couple. A match made in insanity.

"Yeah! It would be awesome!" Alfred laughed. Emil was too tired to care and simply lay against the American, falling asleep at some point.

(END OF CHAPTER 15. Yeah, Alfred got the grizzles to "play" with the soldiers. Aw, how cute. Wait... Yeah if you've ever seen grizzlies they are SCARY. You do not want to be up close to one. They can grow to almost ten feet tall and are so powerful. So ouch. Next up, Alfred gets a terrifying visit from a strange figure. What could she want? Stay tuned for Chapter 16: The Lady in White.)


	15. The Lady In White

Chapter 16

The Lady in White

"Al, we've already been here!" Emil said, pointing ahead. Alfred was carrying the boy on his back while Emil's pack was strapped to his front. "Look we passed that tree with the broken branch yesterday and the day before that."

"We're just going in one big circle!" Alfred complained. He could tell Emil was feeling just as annoyed as he was. "If you're stupid compass was working we'd have been there by now!" He held it up and again it pointed ahead.

"There's nothing wrong with it!" Emil insisted, adjusting himself on Alfred. Emil had Mr. Puffin in the crook of his arm and then other hold onto Alfred who had his arms hooked around Emil's legs holding him to his back. Not comfortable for either, but faster since Emil's injuries were healing slowly and he couldn't walk far on his own or for very long.

"That is it!" Alfred set, stopping in a small clearing, he set Emil at the base of a tree.

"What are you doing?" He said as Al handed him his pack and  
>Emil set a miffed Mr. Puffin on the grass.<p>

"What does it look like? We're taking a break. We've been moving most of the night. The sun rose a couple hours ago. It's way past time for breakfast and you look like shit. You need to rest and I need to find us some grub."

Mr. Puffin stood up and stretched out his wings as if to say, Let me go, but Emil gave him a look. "No," he said to the bird. Alfred had noticed Emil could be like a mother hen when it came to the bird. Even though the bird was practically back to normal thanks in large part to Alfred's blood, Emil still insisted on carrying him. He wanted the bird one hundred percent healthy.

That or he was just afraid to be parted from him again. He must have been lonely if his best friend is a bird.

"But we're so near. We have to be," Emil said, digging through his pack until he found the tome. Alfred gave him the compass. "I think it's the enchantments. I thought the compass could get us past those but apparently not."

"Enchata-whats?" Alfred said, scratching at his head.

"They're wards," He said and at Alfred's quirked eyebrow, explained, "They are protection spells - magic, Al - that keep people from finding the door. The tome goes into almost no detail on them. This is far from a complete copy. It mainly focuses on the ritual for opening the door once you're there."

"Ritual? You've hardly mentioned what this ritual is."

"It's not important right now," Emil replied dismissively, flitting through some pages as Mr. Puffins when walking around. "We have to find the place first. Maybe if I look again."

"You've read enough, Emi," He said, smirking at Emil's narrowed eyes. "How about you rest for a bit. Sleep. I'll find us something good."

Emil kept reading and Alfred shook his head. A sudden gust of wind swirled around them, rustling the branches and the grass before passing off into the forest, shaking the limbs of trees. That wasn't the strange part though. While day was still warmer, it was cold enough at night for them to see their breath, yet that breeze had been warm, not a hint of winter about it.

And familiar.

Emil hardly noticed anything, his eyes staying glued to the tome, but Alfred stared off, feeling a strange call. Before he knew what he was doing, his legs were moving in the direction that breeze had gone.

"Please don't be too long," Emil called, Alfred nodded, it never occurred to him until later that Emil probably hadn't seen that. 

* * *

><p>Alfred had gotten distracted by a bush of berries. Hmm... they are small, round, and growing in late fall. Are they poisonous? He assumed they were, but they looked tasty. He was debating taste-testing them, when he felt that warm breeze again.<p>

He waited for it to pass, but it persisted, tickling his nape. Looking behind him, his eyes bulged and he leapt over the bush, attaching himself to a tree, his mouth opened in a silent scream. Nothing would come out as he stared in horror at the ghost standing eight feet from him.

OhmyGodohmyGod, ran on repeat in his head as he made an "eeping" noise. The tree was quivering in fear too. That had to be it because there was no way it was him. I know you're scared tree, but stop shaking. You're making me look bad, he mentally scolded it because there was ABSOLUTELY no way he was the source of the shaking. Nope. Not possible.

The tree began to crack from the force of his hug. He was just him trying to protect it. Nope, I'm not scared. NOT A BIT. Something in her eyes caught him though.

She wore a long-sleeved white dress with a V-neck down the front. Her hair was long and flowed down past her shoulders, but what struck him first was her droopy, curly cowlick that reminded him of someone. Who had a cowlick like that? He couldn't remember. It had to be the courage coursing through his veins right now that was making him unable to think. Yeah, that's it.

Then there were her eyes. They were so sad. He didn't know what they're true color was since all her colors appeared washed out and grey, but they must have been a lighter shade. Her glow was muted compared to last time. Her mouth moved, but he couldn't read the lips they just became a blur. What's she trying to say?

Her shoulders slumped and that look of deep regret returned. Why are you so sad? That thought softened him and he wondered if maybe ghosts need heroes too. She was alive once too, right?

Speaking in his proud, dignified hero voice he asked, "W-w-w-who a-a-are y-you?" Not a hint of fear in that. Nope, not a bit.

Her lips did not move again, but they gave another of those sad smiles and he remember Emil had said something about that they couldn't communicate with the living and the dead shed no tears.

Slowly releasing the tree from his Hero's Hug, he almost collapsed, but he held himself up by sheer willpower and, summoning more of his heroic awesomeness, asked, "D-d-d-do y-you n-need h-help?" There. That sounded dignified.

She looked at him and slowly turned her gaze left. Instantly she appeared a few feet away and stared back to him with that mournful gaze. She wants me to follow? I should run. He knew he should, but something about her made his heart ache.

He touched his chest. What's wrong with me? Why do I feel sad when I look at her? Something urged him to follow and he did.

* * *

><p>Emil snapped awake. Dammit! I fell asleep! It was past noon. Mr. Puffin was perched beside him staring at something to his left. He looked over to see Alfred.<p>

"Something wrong Al?" He asked. The American was gazing at him with a curious expression. His face was very solemn. Not a common expression for the man.

"I found it," Alfred answered, his face growing somber. What happened?

"Found what?"

"The door. I found the door to the fairyland."

* * *

><p>It had been so close, Emil was amazed they hadn't tripped over it before. For some reason whatever wards had been disguising it had snapped after the American had found it once. How did he do it? The American was being silent on that.<p>

Emil was too awe-struck at the moment to subtly inquire. It's gorgeous! The trunk was big enough to fit a small wagon and the tree itself must have been huge once. It was cleaved exactly in two with charred marks all over it, yet somehow the tree was still alive. Leaves were lush and green on its branches and mushrooms were everywhere but inside the split of the two sides.

"Ta-da!" Alfred said, grinning at last as he set Emil on his feet. Emil leaned on the American a bit, clutching his wound in pain. Emil didn't want Alfred to know how much he still hurt. "Aren't I amazing?"

Emil let that one slide. He was thankful to the American for this, but that brought him back to his earlier curiosity. "How did you find it?"

Alfred gulped hard; his face paled. He stuttered out, "C-c-can w-we talk about-t it l-later?"

"Why? What's wrong with now?" Emil almost asked but then he remember the American had been like this earlier when he said he saw a ghost. Not wanting that Alfred back he decided to let it go for now and nodded, turning back to the tree.

Stepping through the thick miniature forest of mushrooms, he tried to trample as few as possible, but it was difficult since thickly they grew.

He'd finally agree to Mr. Puffin flying again and the bird came to perch on his head. He smiled and took a deep breath he stepped into the center of the split and waited.

"Damn," He muttered as nothing happened.

"You were hoping you could just walk into the fairyland," Alfred chuckled, tromping over, mindless of the mushrooms.

Emil cleared his throat, frowning a little, he insisted, "I was not. I need my tome and chalk," He said, hastily grabbing his pack from the American.

"You have chalk?"

"Well obviously. How else can I draw spell circ- don't give me that look!"

"What look?"

Emil sighed and shook his head, pulling out what he needed. "Anyhow I have to hurry. We only have a few hours of sunlight left.

"We're doing this now?"

"Obviously," He replied. "The sooner the better." I just hope this works. He was worried what he would do if it didn't, but he had never tried this before.

* * *

><p>"I am helping," Alfred said, confused why Emil couldn't see that. Everything he did seemed wrong to the boy. Picky. Priss, priss, PRISS, he thought as Emil again griped at Alfred's rune.<p>

"Al, I told you to draw the rune exactly! That's a fish!"

"What do you mean? I did. It's a fish rune right?"

Emil groaned and massaged the bridge of his nose, he perked up suddenly and did that slight-smile at Alfred, saying, "You know Al, I just realized something crucial that I need a hero to do."

"Oh, right," Alfred said with a wink, "Correct your runes!"

"No!" Emil said, blocking Alfred from his side of the circle. They were drawing a circle in the hard dirt of the the split trunk. It was barely big enough for two of them, but the spell circle in Emil's tome was quite intricate. "Something more important!"

What could be more important than my awesome penmanship? He had Alfred's attention at such a silly thought. Emil continued, "This is something only a true hero can do. I'm not sure if you can handle it. It's pretty tough."

"And what's that?" Alfred asked, leaning forward with interest.

"I was going to leave it to Mr. Puffin, but he's still hurt," Mr. Puffin opened his beak as if to squawk in protest, but Emil held it shut, saying, "I need you to go keep watch out there."

Alfred deflated, repeating, "Keep watch? Me?" He pointed at himself. "I think the Russians gave up following us and beside don't you need my amazing drawing skills?" He gestured at what he had done. Sure Emil's book wanted a perfect circle, but that was boring. Ovals were better in Alfred's opinion and he'd totally improved the runes. What was the harm in adding some eyes, wings, and horns? Why did Emil have to get so bent out of shape over that?

"Well, I guess if you can't handle it...," He trailed off, letting go off an offended-looking Puffin.

"What?" Alfred huffed. "What do you mean can't handle? Of course I can! I'm the hero!"

"Then you'll do it?"

"You'll be shocked at my amazing watchmen's skills!" He declared, tossing Emil his piece of chalk before stomping out of the trunk. Nothing will slip past my eyes or my name isn't Alfred. F. Jones.

(END OF CHAPTER. Sorry I cleaved this in two. This has been a difficult chapter to right. It's not an exciting place to stop. The next one is the second part but I'm giving it this name... Chapter 17: Cost of the Ritual)


	16. The Cost of the Ritual

Chapter 17

Cost of the Ritual

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"Er... Al? Al?" said a voice. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped awake.

"Wha.. what?" He said, glancing around, he wiped a trail of drool from the corner of his mouth. "I'm ready! I'm ready!"

"You fell asleep standing?" Emil said, raising a critical eyebrow. It was now late afternoon and the shadows were deepening.

"I didn't fall asleep," Alfred huffed. As if! "I was merely resting my eyes."

"And the snoring? What was that?"

He coughed and answered, "Clearing my throat. A good thing to do every now and then."

"Right," Emil sighed and shook his head. "I've finished."

"Really?" Alfred said, running over, he studied the circle eagerly, he frowned. "Hey, where are my fish and dragon runes?" Mr. Puffin was walking around the left of the center, where the tome was, bobbing his head.

Emil cleared his throat and sat down on his knees, gesturing for Alfred to sit down across from him. "Shall we begin?"

"Now?" Alfred said, but he sat down cross-legged.

"Well, what do we have to wait for?" Emil pointed out.

Alfred nodded and asked, "But what like happens? Do like flames shoot out and drums sound?" His grin widening at the possibilities. "Do we like clap our hands and say something magical like, 'burgermania' and whoosh we're there?"

Emil just stared at him and answered, "To be honest, this is my first time doing this?"

"Wow, so you're like a virgin to this?"

Emil frowned. "To put it crudely, yes, but I've memorized the chant. So it should hopefully go smoothly."

"And if it doesn't?" Alfred said, a tad worried, not that his voice showed it. No, not at all."

"Then we die."

"What?" Alfred gasped, shooting to his feet, he was about to run when he noticed Emil chuckling softly, "Dude, what's so funny?"

"I wasn't serious," He smirked. Alfred just gaped.

"That wasn't funny," Alfred muttered, sitting back down. He had forgotten that Emil had no sense of timing or style when it came to jokes. This was the kid who introduced himself to Alfred by telling a really terrible knock, knock joke. "Seriously, what will happen?"

"Well, if it doesn't work then nothing. If it does then we go to the fairyland I suppose," Emil replied, pulling out a knife, he casually sliced open his left palm like he were putting butter on toast.

"Geez!" Alfred gasped, starting to jump up again, but Emil shook his head.

"It's all right. It's not deep. I just needed my blood," He said, his brow scrunched in a little pain.

"Dude, can you not be injured for more than a day?" Alfred asked, watching in horror as Emil began to use his blood to trace out symbols. Emil held his other forefinger to his lips, urging Alfred to be quiet.

The Icelander began chanting in a low voice in a weird language that Alfred assumed was more of that heavily-accented English people sometimes spoke. Emil continued to chant, growing louder, as he drew several symbols on the hard-packed dirt with his blood. Beads of sweat gathered on his brow.

A few moments of this and Alfred was nodding off. He was almost asleep when a loud, "Dammit!" snapped him awake and Emil threw his knife on the ground and stood up, his face as closed to pissed as Alfred had ever seen it. On anyway else's face it would have been a full-on scowl, but on Emil's it was just narrowed eyes, tight lips, and a slightly furrowed brow.

"What happened?" Alfred yawned sleepily, "Are we there yet?" He looked around, adding, "Wow, the fairyland looks a lot like before."

"We are not in the fairyland!" Emil grumbled, crossing his arms. "It's not working! It doesn't make sense. I did everything right!"

"Maybe I need to cut my palm open too?" Alfred said, hoping the answer was no. Not that he minded pain, but he certainly didn't like it.

"No, your blood would not help."

"Why not?"

"Because you're not related to Merlin!" He answered and then went rigid.

"Merlin? Oh, hey he's the guy with the cursy-thing. You're related?"

Emil sighed and sat down, answering, "Al, please keep this secret. No one outside my family is supposed to know."

"Know what?"

"About where the magic of our line comes from. They say my brother got the gift almost as strong as Arthur, but I inherited some too."

"Oh, you got a gift?"

Emil made a choking noise and snapped, "Not a gift, gift! Magic! Al, I meant the talent for magic."

"Ooooohhh!" Alfred said, nodding. A gift would have been better.

"So you can cast spells and stuff?"

"Anyone can do that, I already explained what the Talent was! Weren't you listening?"

I really miss hamburgers. Alfred was already drifting into a wonderful daydream about eating them.

"Al!" Emil yelled and Alfred blinked.

"Yup? So you got Merlin's talent coz he's like your pops or something?"

Emil groaned. "He is not my pops. He died centuries ago. He's our ancestor. I, like my brother, am descended from Merlin just as King Arthur is."

"Duuuude," Alfred grinned. "So you are like cousins then with this Artie-guy?"

"No, we are not! We're talking centuries back! I don't know why I bother?" Emil muttered, shaking his head.

"Okay so why's this need your blood?" He said, nodding at where Emil had been writing.

"Because the ritual can only be done by those who possess Merlin's blood."

"It is a dark secret of my family. One few within it know about. One that was only uncovered a couple centuries ago when the Tome was rediscovered."

"I guess this Merlin guy wasn't popular?"

"No, being related to him is an honor. It's why we are that isn't," Emil explained. "From what I gather Merlin never knew." His face turned sad as he continued, "That he had a bastard son out there."

"A what?"

"Morgan Le Fay is also our ancestor. She was the one who copied the tome," Emil said at Alfred's confused look. "She was obsessed with eternal life and since Winter holds the keys to death, she eagerly spied for him. When Winter was sealed, she worked hard to discover how. She copied what she could have from Merlin's tome and she somehow seduced Merlin so she could bear his child. You see, since she married the First Norwegian King, our line has been tainted with her devil magic."

Alfred stared, trying to take that in. This was getting deep and he had only way to deal with a darkening mood. Try to lighten it! He grinned and shot Emil the thumbs up, "But dude you got sorcery talent so what's wrong with that?"

Emil slapped his forehead and then winced as he clearly realized he'd used his injured hand. "Al, you're missing the point! She was secretly pregnant with another man's child when she married the First King. The first born son is not of the true blood. We are all bastards and worse yet, she did it just because she needed Merlin's blood."

Alfred scowled in disgust. That's pretty low to use a kid that way.

"She was ruthless," He continued, "Merlin likely never knew as did the First King. If the tome had not been unearthed we would never have known. She left her notes in it."

"So did she succeed?"

"No, she died a couple years after giving birth. It's kind of mysterious, but some whispered it was Merlin's work. The First King held a grudge toward Merlin after that because he believed the rumors."

"Wait, wait, wait," Alfred said, tapping his chin. "If she wanted Winter, why come here? Oh God, is Winter here?" Shit, just what I need!

"No," Emil replied. "I don't actually know. That part isn't clear. I guess maybe she wanted to win his favor by showing him where Lady Summer was?" He shrugged.

That didn't make sense. Something was missing from this puzzle and then a thought occurred to him, "You said Winter was sealed. How?"

"I'm not sure," Emil said, frowning again. "There is nothing that says where, how, or when Winter was sealed. He just suddenly was. That's the only thing ever written when Merlin announced one day to all the surviving kingdoms, 'It's over. General Winter is sealed,' and then he left. When people asked, he would say no more and no one knew anymore, but since General Winter never appeared before the world again, everyone assumed it was true."

"Weird. So if you're blood is good," Alfred said, changing subjects. His head was aching from all this magic talk, but it was getting easier these days. "Then why isn't it working?"

"I think my talent is not strong enough," Emil answered quietly. "There is not enough magic to make the spell work."

"Then how do we get some?"

"I need a few moments to think," Emil said, grabbing the tome, he turned away from Alfred. What's eating him?

Alfred sighed and positioned himself at the edge of the circle with his back against the inside of the trunk. He was so tired. He hadn't slept much in the past few days and used this chance to catch up on some needed sleep.

It didn't feel like long before he noticed someone leaned over him. He jerked away and nearly shoved the person back instinctively, but caught himself when he realized it was Emil. "What are you doing?" He asked.

Sunset was not far off, he noted. "Sorry," Emil whispered, moving to squat at his side. The boy had something hidden in the folds of his torn jacket and shirt. "I...," He trailed off.

"Are you okay?" Alfred asked, sitting up straighter. "Where is Mr. Puffin?"

"I sent him away to get some fish," Emil replied, not meeting Alfred's eyes. The boy had a defeated tone. "I found away to make it work," he said in a voice so soft Alfred almost didn't catch it.

"Make wh... oh the ritual?" Alfred grinned as Emil nodded. "That's great!"

"Al," He asked, keeping his gaze averted. "What will you do in the fairyland?"

"Same as you I guess. Find Lady Summer get her to help with Winter. Oh, and find that Artie fellow if I can. Why?"

"And you'll do whatever it takes to get her help? To stop Winter?"

"Yeah, of course! I am the hero after all!" He piped.

"Al, I need you to trust me for this to work. Can you do that?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't I?"

"Then give me your hand," Emil asked and Alfred did so, watching as Emil turned it so the palm faced up.

"There you go," He said, his face pinching with worry, "Are you going to cut it?"

"Yes."

"I thought you said I didn't need to?"

"I was wrong. It won't work if we don't do this," Emil said, pulling the knife from the folds of his clothing. "Please trust me, Al. This is what must be."

"All right, but I prefer to cut it myself."

"I need to do it," Emil stated, holding it over Al's palm. "May I?"

Alfred nodded, looking away, he said, "Not too deep now!" He hissed when Emil slashed the blade across it, blood instantly welled up and pooled in Alfred's arm. "Geez," He sucked in through his teeth. "That was deep. So do I start writing now?"

"No," Emil responded, standing up. "Now we wait."

"Wait for what?" Alfred said, a wave of drowsiness hit him and he yawned. His eyelids felt a little heavy, then it hit him. "What did you do?" His muscles were giving out and he was slumping against the wood. Not again!

"I'm sorry, Al," Emil apologized, "But I have to do this. I'm surprised you're still awake. That sleeping potion I put on the knife," He explained, rubbing the knife clean on his clothes, "works very fast, but I guess you are very resistant."

"Why?" He gritted, his voiced tight with betrayal. I trusted him.

"It's the only way," Emil said, grabbing the knife hilt with both hands. "I need a sacrifice, Al, to generate the magic required for this ritual." He raised it over his head. "I have to."

"Don't...," Alfred rasped, inching away as his muscled became jelly.

"Al," He said, tightening his grip, his eyes portraying so many emotions from fear to nervousness to loathing. "If you really are a hero," He said as Alfred tried to get up, to crawl away, "then save our world." Emil plunged the knife down, but not into Alfred, into his own chest.

"EMIL! NO!" Alfre cried, unable to move. His mind was being dragged into a dark sleep. Emil doubled over, blood dribbled out of his mouth as he fell onto the ground on all fours. "Emil!"

"See...you...," he burbled, drawing those symbols from before again with his own blood as it puddled on the ground. An iron smell filled the air. "...again."

"No!" Alfred managed, everything was going dark, but before he was pulled down, the circle lit up with golden light. The ground hummed and shook. Every hair on him rose up and he was aware of a sensation of floating, but then the darkness took him. 

* * *

><p>Ivan sat upon Iron Curtain. He was positioned on the outskirts of Montana State staring at a storm that hovered above the Yellowstone woods. His eyes narrowed. It wasn't large and was barely visible even from this vantage, but it was unusual to say the least. Storms don't rotate like that. It was staying fixed.<p>

There was something else. A feeling that something was very wrong. Sunflower? He kept thinking of him, more than usual, and this time with real concern.

Ice-cold waves emanated from the pipe and he took it out, worried as it glowed the deepest purple he'd ever seen. A low chuckle bubbled out of it, one that made even him shiver. Winter was pleased and that was never a good sign.

"What's so funny?" He demanded.

General Winter's dark laugh only grew louder and then, to Ivan's horror, something happened that had never occurred before. The purple began to flow out of the pipe like a dam had burst. Ivan couldn't have dropped it even if he'd been trying as if the pipe and his hand were one.

There in the twilight formed the ghostly outline of a very tall man. His features were transparent and ill-formed but it was the beginning of something. The start of a face.

Ivan's throat went dry and he could only stare as a mouth, nose, and eyes without pupils took shape and faced him. "Ah, that is better," Winter chuckled. "Surprised, Snowflake?"

Ivan could produce no words. He was afraid in a way only Winter could make him. His mind was trying to grapple with what he was seeing. Winter is out of the pipe?

General sighed, "I can almost." His blurry face contorted with fury and he cried, "No!" He flowed back into the pipe as if wrenched and then it went dead.

Ivan was shaken though. Why? His gaze went from the pipe to the storm that was now dissolving. What happened?

* * *

><p>"And then my most awesome men built a most awesome snowm- I mean pathway through the snow that hel..." At that point Matthew was turning out Gilbert who was going onto one of his tangents.<p>

Matthew nodded along, trying to stifle a yawn. Why did I let him stay? The answer of course was because dismissing the very popular, if somewhat obnoxious, Captain of the Guard reeked of a bad idea. He still sore over Gilbert helping Alfred escape like that. Maybe Gilbert was right and maybe Matthew was wrong, but just ignoring Matthew's orders was unsettling to say the least. Matthew planned to have a hockey match with Gilbert as soon as the man's arm was fully healed.

Alfred. He missed his brother. He didn't know why, he just did. You have bigger worries, he told himself, but that couldn't get his mind away from another problem that resurface since Alfred departed. The dizzy spells were back. A couple weeks after Alfred left they returned and in the last couple days had taken a turn for the worse.

One was hitting now in fact. A big one. He gripped the desk and nodded for Gilbert to go. I'm going to vomit.

"Majesty?" Gilbert asked, standing up. "Are you all right?"

Matthew let out a strangled cry and clutched at his head. The pain was unreal. This wasn't just dizzy spell; it was a hurricane of nausea. "Oh God!" He cried, convulsing, his limbs shot out, twitching and moving uncontrollably, he collapsed on the floor.

"MAJESTY!" Gilbert yelled, running around the desk. Matthew's body writhed and contorted in painful ways as he shrieked. What is going on? His heart thudded loudly in his chest. His last thought before he blacked out was Alfred's gone.

(END OF CHAPTER 16. Something is wrong. Both Ivan and Matthew have experienced disturbing repercussions from what Emil and Alfred have done. What could be the connection and what of Alfred? Find out big secrets and more in Chapter 17: The Italian Fairy)


	17. The Pasta-Loving Fairy

(Trigger Warning: The following contains attempted suicide by a child.)

Chapter 18

The Pasta-Loving Fairy

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~ Ten Years Ago ~

July 3rd.

On that night, ten years ago, Matthew got a butcher knife from the kitchen and went to the sitting room. His Mama was upstairs snoring; unaware of Matthew positioning himself in front of the sitting room's full-length mirror, one that Lord Francis had insisted they own so he could admire his "beautiful face" when he visited Matthew.

In those days, Matthew lived with his Mama in a small, well-furbished house in the south of France. They had one servant, a man Matthew called Papa Felipe, who lived in a nearby cottage.

Matthew stared at his sunken eyes. Dark shadows were beneath them. His face was drawn. As he stood there, placing the blade against his wrist, a part of him pleaded for him to stop. Why? He thought. This is better.

He felt he were dreaming. He was floating above his body, a spectator to the act about to happen. It's just a dream, he assured himself. That's what it had to be. Another of the blackouts, skips in his life that he could not remember, and soon he would wake back in bed.

He winced at the sting of the blade as it sliced up up his wrist. This is better. All these years his world had grown bleaker and bleaker. Something was missing from it. Something he needed in this world and if it wouldn't be in his world than neither would he.

Warm blood slid down his forearm and he gazed back at the mirror, his breathe catching. His eyes were glowing gold and shadows engulfed his face. He shrieked and flung the knife at the mirror, shattering it; he fell over backwards, scrambling away from it.

"That's not me! That's not me!" He screamed and sobbed over and over again until his Mama ran down and found him.

July 4th

It's different. He opened his eyes and studied where he was. Matthew was in his bedroom. Warm sunlight was falling over him through the lacy curtains of his bedside window.

Was it all a nightmare? He held up his right forearm, the gauze wrapped around it said no. For the first time he realize how much his arm hurt, how warm the sun was, and so many other things that had been muted before.

Everything is so bright. How could he not have seen it all? What happened? Something had changed. Whatever had been missing before was now in his world and he could live as a normal boy.

His eyes shifted to his left where his Mama slept on a cushioned chair, lightly snoring. He smiled, his chest glowing with love for that kind woman.

The door opened and she jerked awake. Papa Felipe, an elderly man, entered with a tray of pancakes. They both stared at Matthew.

"I'm sorry," Matthew said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

Next thing he knew his Mama was hugging him close, crushing him against her ample bosom and smothering his face with soft kisses as she sobbed, telling him how frightened she was.

Tears stung his eyes and he kept apologizing, saying, "It's better now." This was true whatever had been wrong before was now right. He didn't know why, but it was. He could feel it.

The "blackouts" stopped after that night and Matthew became a happy child even if he remained as invisible as ever.

* * *

><p>~ Present Day ~<p>

Matthew awoke on his sofa's office room to Gilbert waving smelling salts under his nose. His eyes fluttered open and Gilbert sat back on a nearby stool. Matthew still felt disoriented. He'd dreamed of that night he tried to kill himself. A memory he'd thought buried and gone.

"Majesty?" Gilbert asked, his face painted with concern, "Are you all right?"

"I am. It just haven't been eating well is all," He lied, not wanting to add to the kingdom's worries. He forced himself to smile. Something was nuzzling his feet and he glanced over to see it was his bear.

"Collapsing like that is not all right."

"I'm fine," Matthew insisted, his gaze saying it all, 'Drop it'. Gilbert looked reluctant, but he nodded. "I need some rest is all. Please leave me for a while."

Gilbert sighed and stood up, saying, "Alright, but I am checking on you in an hour, your Majesty. It's my most awesome duty to look after your health."

Matthew nodded and when Gilbert was gone, he flopped back onto the sofa, staring at the stone ceiling above. So many emotions were in him now, but the one that stood above all others was fear.

He could feel it. Whatever had changed that day ten years ago had unchanged. It had reverted back to before. I'm stronger now, he assured himself. It'll be okay. His mind, however, was not so sure. Something was gone. Something he needed and for some reason all he could think of was Alfred.

* * *

><p>Am I in Heaven?<p>

That was Alfred's first thought. Wherever he was; it smelled fantastic. He breathed in the herbal and wheat grass scents. His skin was tingling all over; his heart felt fluttery and light. All around him birds chirped, leaves rustled in the breeze, and someone hummed.

Wait... humming? He opened his eyes, blinking as they adjusted to the bright sun light that was streaming through the forest canopy. It's so warm. That struck him as odd too. Isn't it late Fall?

He turned his head right, toward the source of the humming. He lay on a grassy path lined with large trees, each with a trunk bigger than a barrel. All the plants and leaves sparkled with an emerald light. Even the flowers shimmered from the tulips to the roses to the Forget-Me-Nots.

This must be Heaven, he concluded. Where are the burgers then?

He rubbed his eyes; a few feet down was the source of the humming, a young man or girl. He couldn't tell as they were facing away from him as they happily painting on a canvas. They had a paintbrush in one hand and a wooden pallet of colors in the other. It's a boy, he decided. The young man had a very feminine figure, but his clothes were very masculine. He wore a blue jumpsuit and soft, leather slippers. The boy had short, brown hair with a curl of hair sticking out of the left side of his head.

Alfred gasped at what the boy was painting and sat up. The boy turned around, his brown eyes meeting Alfred's, he smiled and said, "You're awake ve ~"

"Stay back, you sick pervert!" Alfred warned, standing up, he stumbled as a wave of dizziness rolled through him.

"Pervert?" The boy said, his face looking hurt, he set down his pallet and brush. "Why did you say that?" Is he pouting?

"Because that's what you are!" Alfred clarified, pointing at the painting, "I mean what normal person paints naked babies? Sick!"

"Oh, that?" He said, glancing at his canvas, he chuckled, "No silly, those are cherubs! They're meant to be like that."

"Naked?" Alfred said skeptically.

"Yes, don't you know what cherubs are?" The man asked innocently, holding his hands against his chest. Maybe he is a girl?

"Um... naked babies?"

"No, no," The man said, shaking his head back and forth wildly, "They're baby angels, silly."

Okay, he is nuts! "If you say so," Alfred said, starting to back up.

"By the way," The young man piped, "My name is Feliciano Vargas! And yours?"

Alfred puffed out his chest and jerked a thumb against it, declaring, "I am Alfred F. Jones of course!"

"Alfred?" Feliciano said, tilting his head in thought, "That's familiar. Have I met you before?"

"Not possible. You'd remember me if you had," Alfred said with a grin. After all who can forget me? He winced, still feeling a little fuzzy in the head. Some things were coming back. A word. It popped out of his mouth, "Fairyland!"

"Scuzy?"

"No, the fairyland! I was trying to find it," Alfred said, glancing around. "Is this it?"

"Fairies do live here and it is land. So it must be then," The young man agreed.

Again with the fairies. He's just like... Alfred straightened up, looking all around, he approached Feliciano, demanding, "Did you see another boy? One with silver-white hair?"

"Umm... no," Feliciano answered, shaking his head. "There was only you."

"I have to find him. Where did you find me?"

"Just over there, but you were alone." Alfred deflated at that news. Emil.

Maybe he's lying. Yes, that's true. Alfred had gotten burned taking people at their word. I trusted Emil and he did that, Alfred thought bitterly. It was time for a new strategy. Grabbing the man by the front of his shirt, the man squeaked as Alfred lifted him a foot off the ground and snarled, "You sure about that, buddy? I'm not feeling real trusting these days if you know what I mean."

"Th-there was no one," A wide-eyed Feliciano stammered, "I was painting when I heard a loud sound followed by a crashing noise and then something, you, landed in the bushes. When I found you, you were sleeping so peacefully. I thought you were dead, but your cowlick told me you were fine."

"My what?" Alfred said, trying real hard to keep his glower up. It's hard being an anti-hero. This was true.

"Your cowlick," Feliciano repeated.

"Um... dude you're bat-shit insane. Nantucket doesn't talk."

"Nantucket?"

"My hair, you... you... idiot," He said, repressing a shudder. This anti-hero stuff sure is hard. While he enjoyed messing with people, these kind of insults just weren't his style. Maybe because he'd been called an idiot one too many times himself.

"Aw, you named it?" The man smiled, but it turned nervous at Alfred's frown. "D-don't you know?" He looked genuinely concerned for Alfred.

"Know what?" He demanded, pulling the boy closer to him.

"I'll show you," Feliciano chirped and turned his head suddenly so that their gravity-defying curls touched. A crackle of energy snapped between them and Alfred's whole body spasmed from the shock of it. Waves of emotions coursed through him and he knew somehow that this man was a sweet person at heart.

He dropped Feliciano, stumbling backwards, he fell over. "What the fuck was that?" He hissed, cupping a hand over Nantucket.

"Cowlick communication!" The man piped.

"Cowlick commun...," Alfred trailed off, his jaw dropping at what Feliciano did next. The man simply folded up his legs and hovered in the air, three feet above the ground as if it were the most natural thing ever. All blood drained from Alfred's face as he stuttered, "Y-you're... you're fl-floating. A-a-are y-you a ghost?" He gulped. Am I really dead then?

"No, no silly," He chuckled, threading his fingers together, he rested his chin on them, "I'm no ghost. I'm a fairy, well mostly, my grandfather was human."

"A fairy?" Alfred repeated. Wow, they take this fairyland name pretty serious.

"Why are you so surprised? You're one, too. Well, at least half one."

"I am not!" Alfred denied, "I can't be! What makes you think I'm a fairy?"

"I said you were at least half fairy," The boy clarified, "And you are. Look at that cowlick, those eyes, and that super-cute face. Definite fairy blood."

"Don't call me cute!" He snapped. "I'm incredibly handsome! And what do you mean by those eyes and that cowlick? What's that got to do with being a fairy?"

"Oh, you poor boy? How can you not know this?" Feliciano sighed, shaking his head. He gestured at his curl, explaining, "All fairies have a form of these hairs that stick out. Humans mixed with fairy blood sometimes have them to and if its really strong like it is in mine and yours, then we can feel things through them just like full-blooded fairies."

"That's ridiculous," He said, refusing to believe this. "And there's nothing wrong w- Where are my glasses?" He yelled, realizing they weren't on his face. He glanced all over.

"Don't worry," Felicianio said, "They're in your pocket." Alfred relaxed, finding them in his jacket. He paused, frowning again as he stood up. He looked around, realizing he could see fine without them. How can that be?

"What did you do?" He accused Feliciano. He stood up, his fists curling at his sides. "What have you done?"

"I didn't do anything," Feliciano said, holding up his palms.

"You must have! I can see perfectly! I've never had perfect vision in my life!"

"You've never had - Wait, are you from the outside world?" Feliciano gasped, pointing at Alfred, he floated backwards.

"What do you mean outside world? There's only one world."

Feliciano rolled his eyes and said, "That explains a lot. You poor thing. No wonder this is all such a shock for you. I was sure I'd seen you before, but I guess not. So what's the outside world like these days?"

"Isn't this place a part of it?"

"Not quite. This place is neither here nor there. We're just somewhere, but we're not there."

"That makes no sense."

"You get it then ve ~," Feliciano chirped, "But lucky you! We have so much to talk about! I want to hear all about the outside."

"Funny because I want to hear about this world."

"So you really couldn't see well at all out there?" Feliciano continued, "It must have so little magic left then. I bet if the full-blooded fairies went out there now they would be blind."

"And why would that happen?" Not that he believed too much of this, but still, he was curious.

"Well fairies have special eyes and need magic to see. Your eyes glow such a beautiful blue here. You see a lot like fairies do. It is a great way to see, but not in an area low in magic. Your vision must have been so poor out there without your eye-shields."

Alfred removed his hand from his cowlick and asked, "So is Nantucket different here too?"

"Well, it's more sensitive here, but its purpose works the same as out there."

"And what purpose is that?"

"Wow, what were you raised by humans or... oh you were?" He said, looking sad for Alfred. I don't need your pity. "You poor thing," He pouted.

"Would you stop saying that you creep!"

"Sorry, but it's so sad," Feliciano sniffled, "How can you not know what our hairs are for?"

"Which is?" Alfred said. Just spit it out already!

"They're for lots of things, communicating, attracting mates, sex, sha-."

"WHAT?" Alfred shouted, leaping to his feet.

"You must have noticed how sensitive they are? How they make us feel when certain people touch them," He hummed and smiled dreamily at that comment, "They say that it will become the most erotic if your soulmate should touch it." He sighed, adding, "I wish I'd meet my soulmate. It would feel wonderful in their hands."

Ew... Alfred shuddered, not liking where this was going. "That's... That's just stupid!" Alfred spluttered, refusing to accept this nonsense. Soulmates!? Ha! No way! No how! His face heated up as he though of Ivan's touch, but he crushed that thought fast.

"Why are you embarrassed?" The boy tittered. "Surely, you know what I mean?"

Alfred turned red and shouted, "That's none of your business you creepy pervert!" He stamped a foot, but somehow had lost all intimidation to this fairy-boy-thing.

"Aw, that's so sweet. You must be a virgin, ve ~."

"I AM NOT A VIRGIN!" Alfred cried and then clamped his mouth shut, his whole body now blushing. Idiot.

"You're so funny," The boy laughed, "You shouldn't be embarrassed. Lovemaking is a sweet thing. I have made lots of love to men, women, and magical creatures!" The boy beamed and Alfred gaped at him abject horror. Magical creatures?

"You are a pervert! L-like that French guy!" Alfred stammered, swallowing hard. This was too much.

"Hmm... is it a human thing to be so embarrassed?" Feliciano mused, laying in the air, he drifted closer. Alfred held his ground. He won't intimidate me! "But you have so much fairy in you too. The eyes, the cowlick, and... maybe other parts, ve ~" His eyes dropped lower.

Alfred didn't think he could get any redder, but he did. "FREAK!" He yelled, glaring at the boy who merely chuckled and smiled. "Stay away from me! I'm not interested in that!"

"Not with me?" The boy asked, tilting his face and batting his eyes seductively. Alfred cringed inside.

"Hell no!" He spat, really wanting to back away, but stubbornness held him in place.

"You're really not interested in me?" The boy frowned and suddenly shot forward so their cowlicks touched again. Alfred jumped back, his arms pinwheeling as he fell over again and landed with an "umph".

"Do that one more time and I...what?" He said, noticing Feliciano's shocked expression. "Something wrong?"

"This is unexpected," Feliciano said and grinned, clasping his hands together he yelled, "Congratulations!"

"On what?" Alfred demanded, picking himself off. He had his hand over Nantucket. Let the bastard try that again. He'd be ready.

"On finding your soulmate!"

Alfred nearly fell over again. "On finding my what?" He snapped. What a fruitcake.

"Oh, I am so jealous!" Feliciano squealed, "This explains why you weren't falling for my enchantment."

"What enchantment?"

"Well," The boy said shyly, rubbing the back of his neck, "I may have cast a small spell to make you fall to my charms."

"You put a spell on me! You sicko!" Alfred accused, jabbing a finger at him.

"What can I say? I love the blondes! Mmmm," He grinned, crossing his arms behind his head. "And your soul shines so bright, but alas, you're not for me. You've already bound yourself to another."

"What do you mean bound?"

"You had sex with your soul mate right? Now the soul of contracts has been made. Blondes do have all the luck. I've been around for centuries and never met mine."

Alfred just gaped at him, working his jaw, he managed, "I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't met my soul-anything!"

"But you have! Your cowlick told me!"

"Nantucket doesn't talk!" He insisted, crossing his arms, he glared at a tree, grumbling, "Besides, you're wrong."

"What's he like?"

Alfred went rigid. "Who said anything about he?" He tried to glare at Nantucket. You loud-mouth bastard!

"So I was right," Feliciano said, "It must be your human upbringing. They also get worried about those things."

"My sex life is none of your business nor the fact that I'm gay!"

"You're gay?"

"Duh! I slept with a guy!"

"Doesn't mean your gay."

"I think it does."

Feliciano sighed and sat up in the air again, shaking his head again, he mumbled, "Humans. They always limit themselves like that. It had to be this gender, this status, this look. Why can't they just love?"

"What like just date some old lady? I mean... you can't! It's not...," He drifted off, his argument sounded empty.

"Why not? If her soul is gorgeous, then what does it matter?"

"So you'd just sleep with anyone?"

"No, of course not. I would never sleep with undeveloped souls."

"Undeveloped souls?"

"Children," Feliciano clarified, "No fairy that isn't twisted to the black would dare touch a child in such a way. Only when the soul has reached maturity can it be truly breath-taking."

Alfred nodded relieved to hear that. I guess fairies aren't so bad.

"So you just check out their souls?" Alfred said, suddenly wondering how exposed his soul was. "Is my soul naked or something?" He yelped, trying to cover himself.

Feliciano threw his head back, laughing, "Oh, you are funny and your innocence is so cute!" Alfred glared at him. "We fairies don't mate by flesh like humans and we don't become attracted to others for their bodies. No, we see people for their souls. Only unusual and beautiful ones attract us. For this reason, your soulmate will always be beautiful in your eyes."

Again with the soul mate crap. Alfred harrumphed, saying, "Not this again! Good Lord, how many times must I tell you! He is not my soul mate and his soul is certainly not gorgeous! He's a disease! He's cruel, nasty, and disgusting! I'd never love him."

Feliciano looked confused, saying, "I've never heard of soul mates not loving each other. Love between them is as natural as pepperoni is to pizza." Now he was speaking in words Alfred could understand. "Maybe you are wrong about him. Maybe your eyes have been so trained to see like a human, you are refusing to face the truth."

"I am not! He's crazy! There's no way around it! Your fairy taste must be awful if you think a murdering bastard is attractive."

Feliciano pouted and squeezed his eyes together tightly and then snapped his fingers, yelling, "I got it! I have heard of this happening. He is a gorgeous soul, but he's been forced to act against his true nature."

"And why would he do that?"

"Sometimes the way a person acts or behaves is not what is true to their heart. You must know. Humans do this often," Feliciano insisted and Alfred nodded. He could agree with that. He thought of Emil's behavior. "They're so complicated and they always lose their way. Not that fairies and Eternals don't," Feliciano's face momentarily darkened, but he continued, "But it is possible that his actions and mannerism do not reflect what is truly in his heart."

"Then why do it? Why not follow his heart?"

"Maybe he can't. Maybe something won't let him," Feliciano answered sadly. "If so, then it is real important you be there for him. As his soulmate, you could save him."

Alfred brightened at that. "Save him? Like a hero would?" He leaned forward with interest.

"Maybe," The boy tittered, his eyes clouding over with thought, "You're like the pasta to his tomato sauce! He won't be delicious without you!" This boy makes sense. Alfred nodded along. Why couldn't more people talk like Feliciano? "Alfie," Alfred frowned at that, "Tell me, do you dream of him sometimes?"

Alfred coughed a little and muttered, "You could say that."

"Special dreams. Dreams where you are not you. Where you were someone else, but ones that felt real?" Alfred thought back to when he was with Ivan. He would sometimes dream of that violet-eyed boy. He straightened, remembering that. That's where I'd seen him. He saw that very boy in his nightmare with Ivan. No, they can't be the same. The boy in that dream had been glaring while the one in those full-moon dreams had been smiling.

"Maybe."

Feliciano squeaked in delight. "Mating with... your," Alfred shot him a glare, " your friend is a sacred thing for us. With each round of lovemaking your souls wove together. Pieces of him went into you and pieces of you into him. He probably left more of his memories and soul in you than you realize. Those dreams are his memories."

"But...," Alfred trailed off, remember the terror of that boy. If that were so...Did something bad happen to Ivan? He'd always had that feeling. He shook his head.

"And what did he taste like?"

Alfred blinked. "What?"

"Was it like honey or spring rain or candy?" He asked, explaining, "Your soulmate."

"I'm still not agreeing to that soul-mate crap!" Alfred said, and then mumbled, "Snow, mints, and all sorts of things. What's that have to do with things?"

Felciano squealed and clapped happily, "Wonderful! You must have tasted so fantastic to him!"

Alfred just quirked an eyebrow. Weirdo.

Feliciano carried on, "So romantic! I'm not sure if it's different with soul... special friends," He changed his words at Alfred's warning look, "But this is why fairies or us part-fairies only mate with special souls because we taste them. We taste like the things they crave and they taste, well, like they what they truly are."

Human flavors? Are their burger-tasting souls then? Alfred shook his head. Don't buy into this. All this talk of food and flavors though was catching his interest and reminding him how hungry he was.

"That's why once a human mates with a fairy it's hard for them to go back to human lovers. Only if they truly love the person will it be okay, otherwise the sex will always be lacking."

Alfred had usual been left alone due to his intimidating strength, but he had noticed sometimes the looks people gave him, the longing. That's just because I'm handsome! "So what if I get him a fairy-lover? Will he get over me then?"

Feliciano did that damn giggle again. "Of course not! I told you he's your... whatever! The point is that bond is very special. He must be bewitched with you and out of his mind searching for you. As a part fairy you have some protection to it, but he has none. We fairies don't make love to the body so much as we do to the soul. And if he is your special friend then you will never be free of each other now."

"That's just crazy! Who came up with such a stupid thing! Soul mates! I don't need him!" Alfred said, praying it was true, but he knew deep down what was really in his heart. "I mean shit! I can't be this fucked!"

"You are his and he is yours!"

"Would you stop saying that!" He cried, grabbing at his head. He wanted to rip out his hair. This was a nightmare. "Fine! Let's say this is true! How do I undo it?"

"You can't," The boy replied, shaking his head, "Even death won't break the bond. You are entwined. You will long for each other. This is why if a fairy meets his soul mate he has two choices enchant them so their life span grows or don't mate with them ever. Once you mate, it's too late."

"How was I supposed to know?" Alfred huffed, crossing his arms. "Nobody told me this shit!"

"You kissed him first right?"

Alfred blushed, remembering that first kiss. No, no, no!

"You did!" Feliciano chuckled, "I see it in your eyes. That spark! Now I want to kiss my soul," Alfred threw him a sharp look, "friend. They say it is like no other and once you've mated with your friend then your hair strand will only be erotic to them."

"Wait," Alfred gasped in horror, "Are you saying I'll only want sex with him?"

"Pretty much. Yeah, you're right that would suck," Feliciano said, his face turning pouty. "Maybe I don't want to meet my soul friend after all."

Alfred grabbed his temples, squatting down, "I'm so screwed!" He wailed. This isn't fair! No, I refuse to believe this! "This can't be!" He shot up again, jabbing his finger against Feliciano's chest. "You are a liar and I'm not listening to anymore! Good-bye!"

He turned to run, but Feliciano moaned, "Oh and I was just going to make pasta." Alfred stopped and turned around.

"Did you say pasta?"

"Veee~ , but you were leaving, right?" Feliciano pouted, "And I was going to sauté mushrooms and everything! Oh well!"

Alfred cleared his throat, saying, "I can stay for a bit longer. Can you make burgers?"

"Never heard of that, but I'm a great cook so sure!"

Alfred grinned, pulling the boy in for a hug, he laughed, "You know I think you and I will be great friends!"

"Oh and you must meet our King," Feliciano chirped, settling his feet on the ground, he tugged Alfred to follow him. "Kitchen is this way."

"There's a kitchen in the forest?"

"Well it's in the Fairy Grove not too far where the King and Lady live."

"Lady?" Alfred said, grabbing Feliciano's shoulders, "You mean Lady Summer?"

"Oh you know her?"

"I need to see her! This works out great! I can eat and talk to her!" Alfred said.

"I wouldn't be too...," Feliciano faltered a little, looking down, but Alfred was already pulling him along.

"Lead the way!"

"I really think I need to warn you about some things," Feliciano said as they walked, twiddling his fingers.

"Oh, is like your King really cruel or something?"

"No, he's really nice. A little bit heart broken since - Oh I remember now!" Feliciano said, halting and looking at Alfred. "His little brother was named Alfred too!"

"What?" Alfred said, putting his hands on Feliciano's shoulders they stared at each other, comprehension dawning.

"Could it be...," Feliciano began and they both finished at the same time, "A REALLY AMAZING COINCIDENCE?" They laughed and walked on.

"The name Alfred must be popular around here."

"No, not really," Feliciano replied.

"What was the boy's full name?"

"Full name? He didn't have anymore. He was just Alfred."

Then it couldn't be me because I'm Alfred F. JONES. Alfred concluded.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Feliciano said, pulling out a small white flag from his pocket, he handed it to Alfred. "You'll need that."

"Why?"

"Now you can't not - you don't know what these are for?" Feliciano choked. "But...but... where were you raised?"

"America."

"And in America they don't use these?"

"I guess not?" Alfred said, giving his a playful wave. Feliciano clutched his heart, making a choking noise, he almost doubled-over. "Dude, are you all right?"

"You poor, poor thing! Not knowing what white flags are? These are only the most important thing you'll ever have! I keep a stockpile of them at my home!"

"Really?" Alfred said, staring at his, curious if it had super powers or something. "What do they do?"

"What do they do? What do they do?" Feliciano lamented, tears welling in his eyes. "I am so sorry. This is just heartbreaking!" He threw himself against Alfred, sobbing into his chest. Alfred tried to pull him off, but Feliciano had seemingly attached himself and wouldn't let go.

"There, there," Alfred said, patting the sobbing man, he rolled his eyes. "It's not a big deal."

"These Americans are crazy!" He bawled, "Not knowing about white flags! It's so awful!"

"Hey! America is great!" He rebuked, but that only made Feliciano cry harder. Alfred groaned, wanting the man off as his shirt was getting soaked, but he was a hero and he didn't just throw a crying person off. "Look, what if... you teach me now? How 'bout that?"

It worked, Feliciano backed up, wiping away his tears away, he nodded, sniffling, "Yes, that might help. I mean I just...," He bit his forefinger to stifle the sobs. "Your lucky I'm always prepared." In the blink of an eye, the man had pulled two more white flags out from God knows where. "Prepare yourself Alfred F. Jones for the lesson of a lifetime!"

* * *

><p>(END OF CHAPTER. Oh Lord. Feliciano, bad fairy! Bad, bad fairy! No pasta for you. More surprises are to come as Alfred meets the King of Fairyland. Stay tuned for Chapter: The King of the Faeries)<p> 


	18. The King Of Fairies

(By the way brownies is another type of magical creature. This would lead to confusion on Alfred's part. No, Alfred, you can't eat them.)

Chapter 19

The King of Fairies!

Alfred's jaw dropped. Beautiful. He had never seen such grace and passion. Feliciano had a flag in either hand and was waving them in masterful figure eights. His face held an expression of absolute despair.

"And that is how it's done," Feliciano said, stopping, he bowed. Alfred clapped and whistled.

"That was beautiful! So what's that do?" He asked, glancing at his. Feliciano made that choking noise again.

"What do they do?" Feliciano said, groaning, "I'll tell you what they do. They stop battles! White-flag waving ends war."

"Really? Wow," Alfred said in an awe-filled voice, holding his up. This must be the most amazing weapon ever! I must learn its secrets. "They must be quite powerful then."

"Are they ever!" Feliciano agreed. "Last I knew they were standard issue for the Italian army. No italian soldier would be caught without one."

"Wow, dude," Alfred gape, imagining a whole Italian army equipped with what had to be the most powerful weapon ever! "The Italians must have ruled the world!"

"Actually they did once in my grandfather's day. They were known as Romans then."

"That's so amazing!" Alfred chirped. This Italy was a role-model for nation-building. "I bet their armies were unstoppable. No one could catch up to them!"

"You have no idea," Feliciano chuckled, "Italian armies can be some of the fastest in the world!"

I must learn from them! "Please teach me how to use these white flags!"

"Of course, I learned from the best. The trick to flag-waving," He began, straightening his form, holding white flags out with both hands, "Is it's all in the wave. Now watch again." He stuck out his left foot, toe just grazing the grass, and with his right hand, he moved his flag in an upward streaking arc before bringing it down until he formed a figure eight. He soon increased it to where both arms were waving in perfect rhythm. Then he stopped and nodded to Alfred, "Now you try."

Alfred tried. He stuck out himself, waving it here and there, but it was just so clumsy. He growled in frustration. Why can't I do this? It's just a flag!

"No, no, no!" Feliciano sighed, shaking his head, he came over, grabbing Alfred's hips he yanked them into position. He straightened Alfred's arm and legs and said, "It's not just some random swish-swish, flag-waving is an art."

"Really?" Alfred said, sure he could master this.

"And your face is all wrong. You have to look like this," Feliciano said, his expression turned pleading, his lower lip jutted out, trembling.

"Like this?" Alfred asked, tilting his head, he tried to mimic.

"No, no, no," Feliciano replied, shaking his vigorously from side to side. "That's just cute. I want pitiful! PI-TI-FUL!"

"Pitiful?" Alfred said, he thought of Francis, but that was more disgusting. Then his mind came upon something. A memory of an ice cream cone he'd accidentally dropped in a mud puddle once. There was nothing more pitiful than wasted ice cream. He drew deep within him, mimicking what that ice cream must have felt.

"Better," Feliciano acknowledge, but griped, "But that's still not it. I mean look at that face. What are you asking for a cookie or something?"

"Do you have a cookie?" Alfred inquired.

"Focus!" He snapped, "You need less steel in your gaze and more pout! I want broken! BROKEN! Like this!" Feliciano's eyebrows turned down and his expression became one of true desolation. Alfred wanted to reach over and pat Feliciano on the back and tell him everything would be all right. Wow, he's good!

"Why broken?" This was a very strange weapon he had to admit.

"What good is waving the white flag if you look ready to murder the other side?" Feliciano explained, but this only added to Alfred's confusion.

"But isn't intimidation good with enemies?"

"Ah mi Dios!" Feliciano lamented, "What do they teach you in America? I have so much to un-teach! But we should finish this later," He said, nodding at the sky. "It's almost time."

"Time for what?" Alfred asked, attempting to see what the Fairy was looking at.

"The most important time of day. Siesta!" Feliciano piped, swinging his arms as he skipped along the path. Alfred shrugged and trailed after him, curious what a Siesta was.

* * *

><p>The Fairy Grove was nothing but a bunch of trees intricately grown into each other to form a serious of rooms. He was curious how they got trees to do that. Even though Feliciano kept chiding him to close his mouth, Alfred kept forgetting. He gaped at everything.<p>

There were objects from chairs to doilies to all sorts of things that would go floating by, when he asked, "Are they magical?"

Feliciano said, "Of course, not."

"Then why are they floating?"

"They're not floating. They're being carried by the brownies."

"Oh, you have brownies?" Alfred asked. "I love brownies!"

"Of course we have brownies. Can't you see them?"

"See what?" Alfred said, looking around. "I'd know brownies if I saw them." How could I not notice chocolate squares?

"Your eyes must have been damaged by your time in the human world," Feliciano sighed. "Can you at least see the pixies?" He pointed at the ceiling where little balls of different colored lights were floating.

"You mean the lights?"

"Oh dear, maybe you do need something for your eyes here too," Feliciano said. "Oh, out of the way," he said, flattening against the wall. "Alfred, hurry!"

Alfred copied him, confused why until he saw hoof prints pressing down on the grass as something walked by. He heard what sounded like a horse snorting, but he saw nothing.

"Unicorns," Feliciano muttered and they resumed walking through the tree-lined corridor until they came to a huge dining room. It had a long oak table that seemed grown from the ground more than carved. There were tree stumps all around it and it looked large enough to seat fifty or sixty.

The room was bustling with birds hanging tinsel, more of those floating objects, like baubles, carried by "brownies", and those floating balls of light Feliciano had called pixies. There were short child-like humans with pointy ears that Feliciano called "elves" and even another fairy with pink hair and a much longer curly cowlick than Feliciano's that was up floating in the ceiling examining something.

"The kitchen is through there," Feliciano chimed pointing at an opening in the wall of trees that surrounded the dining area. "I'll take you to the King and Lady later."

"Do you smell that?" Alfred said, sniffing, as they came to the opening. "That burning stench?"

Feliciano stopped, his face turned white as a sheet and pinched in terror. "The King," He squeaked, his lower lip trembling in horror, he cried out, "is cooking!"

There was an abrupt halt in the noise around them. All around everything froze.

"Felciano, is that you?" Called an accented voice from the opening. "You're just in time! The scones are almost done!"

A girl screamed to his left. No wait, Alfred thought, that was just Feliciano. Suddenly, there was a mad scramble all around. Sizzling and popping noises went off everywhere as the pixies winked out. The birds squawked and shot up into the canopy, the elves vanished in bright flashes of light. The floating objects landed all around as if dropped suddenly. Within moments the entire area had cleared. A pin drop would have sounded like a herd of buffalo in the silenced that followed.

"Wow, what just ha-," He stopped mid-sentence, realizing Feliciano was gone. He saw the Italian ducking out of sight around a corner at the end of the main hall. He really can run fast.

"Bollocks, where is everyone?"

Alfred turned around and had to bite his lip hard to keep from laughing at what he saw. A man stood in the opening, wearing a frilly pink apron over a military green uniform. His fists were planted on his hips, scowling. He had sandy-blonde hair, green eyes, and...

"EYEBROWS!" Alfred shouted, happy he had found Arthur. Arthur, however, did not seem so delighted. He was also a lot younger-looking than Alfred had expected. I thought he was closer to Francis's age, but he looks around mine. Of course, Alfred did have to admit Francis looked really young for his age. Must be something in all those stupid perfumes he wears.

"You rude git!" He snarled, glaring at Alfred.

"I know you!" Alfred chirped, bouncing up and down in excitement, pointing at Arthur, "You're Arthur, the King of England!"

"England?" He muttered, "Never heard of it!"

"Never heard of it?" Alfred repeated. How can that be? "Are you sure? You are King Arthur, aren't you?"

"Must I repeat myself?" He snapped, "I bloody well am King Arthur, you git! King of this land and no other."

"But that can't be! With eyebrows like that, you must be the King of England," Alfred insisted.

"YOU PRAT!" Arthur spat, touching his eyebrows gingerly. "How many times must I say it! I'm not the bloody King of any land but this one! I've never even heard of this England! And what kind of part-fairy are you? Not knowing your own King?"

"You can tell I'm part-fairy?"

"With an obnoxious cowlick like that, who couldn't? Now who exactly let you in here? I need to throttle them!" Anger issues.

This is confusing. "Feliciano did?" He answered sheepishly.

"Feliciano?" He barked, "So that was him I heard. Where is he now?" Arthur said, squatting down to look under the table. "He's not hiding again? Don't lie to me, boy."

"No, he took off that way," Alfred jerking a thumb at the main entryway, "Man is he fast. Is that a fairy power? I mean he was gone as if running from death itself!" He piped with a grin, hardly noticing Arthur's upper lip twitch in a snarl, he continued merrily, "And it wasn't just him. Like everyone vanished just like the minute you mentioned... what was it? Oh yeah! Scones! You okay?"

Alfred finally had noticed that Arthur looked ready to erupt. His face had gone red with anger. "BLOODY HELL!" Arthur screamed, stamping his feet and waving his arms like some deranged monkey. Alfred took a step back. "HOW DARE THEY! Ungrateful gits! They wouldn't know flavor if it bit them in the arse! I'll show them!" He cackled, an evil gleam in his eye. "They can't run forever from my delicious cooking!"

"Oh, you cook?" Alfred said, sniffing. What is that burning smell? Is there a fire?

"Of course I cook! I'm the best bloody cook in all the land! I'm the bloody King of Fairies! Everyone here loves my cooking!"

"Then why did they fle-"

"Loves it!" He insisted, crossing his arms, "And who in God's name are you anyway?"

Alfred puffed out his chest, standing straight, he declared, "I am Alfred F. Jones! The world's most amazing hero!"

"Alfred?" Arthur repeated, his features softening, doubt flitted across them. "Did you say Alfred?" He looked Alfred up and down, studying him, and then shook his head saying, "No, not possible." Alfred didn't catch the last part, but it sounded like he muttered, "He was a sweet boy."

He stared at Alfred hard and asked, "Where are you from git?" What's a git? Must be something amazing if he's calling me that. "Can't be from here if you don't know any of the basics."

"I came from," He paused for emphasis and said, "The good ole' Americas."

"Never heard of that either," Arthur replied flatly.

Alfred made a choking noise and had to lean against a nearby tree for support, he gasped, "You...never...heard," He drew in a breathe and regained some of his voice, "Of the most badass place ever? Where have you been living? A forest?"

"Yes, actually."

"Oh, you poor, poor thing," Alfred said, his tone dripping with pity as he shook his head. Arthur's scowl came back.

"You!" He began, but Alfred interrupted pointing behind Arthur at the entrance to the kitchen, he asked, "Hey, is that smoke?"

"MY SCONES!" Arthur shrieked, grabbing the front of his apron, he ran down; Alfred, being a hero, followed after him.

* * *

><p>"Just try one!" Arthur grumbled, shoving the plate toward Alfred.<p>

"Are you sure this isn't charcoal?" Alfred said, eyeing the black lumps before him that Arthur kept insisting were edible.

"They're just a little burnt is all," Arthur snapped, crossing his arms, he glared at Alfred expectantly. "A polite guest would at least try them."

A polite guest would be dead. Alfred had already had enough bad experiences with being drugged lately. He wasn't about to eat what was obvious poison. I've got to handle this diplomatically. Oh, I got it! "Charred food makes me sick!" He piped cheerfully, giving a big thumbs up. What a great diplomat I'd make!

He heard a grinding noise and raised an eyebrow. It was Arthur's teeth gnashing together. Oh, I better alleviate the situation. "Don't feel bad, dude. Not everyone can make toxic rocks like you do!" He chortled, widening his grin and giving two thumbs up. Arthur's eye began to twitch.

Alfred's eyes wandered around the kitchen, ignoring the stewing King. Down here reminded him of a dark cellar. Trees surrounded it tightly and allowed in little sunlight, but somehow allowed enough air in to keep it from getting musty. In the center of it was a wooden table for cutting things. To the left of the door was a fire with a spit and next to that was kiln made of a bronze metal. On the opposite wall were shelves and cabinets filled with glass jars that held all sorts of things from dried leaves and powders to jams and ground up spices.

When they'd made it down here, flames had been gushing out of the kiln. Alfred, being the daring hero, had taken a nearby water bucket and thrown it onto the flame, accidentally getting most of the water on Arthur.

Arthur for some reason been angry about this and banished Alfred to a nearby stool on the other side of the table while the King put out the fire and fished out his "scones". Alfred hadn't minded too much though as the room was loaded with baskets and baskets of fruit. The strawberries particularly caught his attention, but every time he tried to sample a few Arthur would yell, "Put it back, git!"

Does he have eyes in the back of his head or what? Alfred kept wondering. He was sure fruit would be all right to eat.

"You...you git!" Arthur growled, snapping Alfred's attention back to the King. Is it because I'm juggling his scones now? He didn't see anything wrong with that. He was giving them a purpose. "Stop tossing them around like that!"

"What else can we use them for?" Alfred said, "Oh wait! We could use these as hammers!"

Arthur snapped then and, grabbing an apple from a nearby basket, he flung it at Alfred's head. Alfred caught it easily, winking, he said, "Thanks! But dude you almost hit my face. Your aim is as lousy as your cooking."

"You!" Arthur yelled, grabbing more, he chucked them at Alfred who caught them easily. Alfred smirked. He had a brilliant idea or his name wasn't Alfred F. Jones.

* * *

><p>Arthur was hunched over the table, sipping at this awful brew he called "tea", a scowl seemingly permanently etched onto his face. He kept glaring at Alfred who, in contrast, was sitting on his side of the table, feeling quite content with a pile of apple cores in front of him.<p>

Arthur had eventually caught on that Alfred had been riling him only to get Arthur to chuck more apples at him. Alfred was just opening his mouth to ask more questions when the most beautiful voice he ever heard called, "Arthur?"

Arthur's face transformed into complete adoration as his eyes left Alfred and went to the entryway. Alfred's heart sped up. That voice had been like the ting of a silvery bell. No words could describe it. Neither lovely nor angelic were strong enough to capture its power and allure. "I saw Feliciano running and assumed you were in the kitchen again."

Alfred had to remind himself to breathe at what stepped into the kitchen. He was still very confused how attraction worked with fairies or part-fairies, but he had a strong suspicion that a person could be attracted only to dung beetles and still find Lady Summer stunning. She radiated a power that made it impossible to jerk his eyes away.

Though her face was as youthful as Alfred's, her blue eyes betrayed her true age. They held an ancient and unearthly light. The beauty of her face was framed by her blonde tresses, a cascade of gold curls that fell down her back. Flowers of every shape and side were nestled in those locks and seemed to be growing in them.

She wore a tan, sleeveless dress that matched her sun-kissed skin. Her figure was a perfect athletic build. The grass beneath her grew lush and strong as if her very presence infused it with the drink of life. He knew the instant he saw her that she was not of this world.

"My Lady ~" Arthur cried, coming into Alfred's vision. The King ran up to her with the plate of scones, "Look what I made as a symbol of our love." He held up the burnt lumps with a shy grin. Did he say "our love"?

Her face showed no expression, but her eyebrows slightly raised as she stared at the "scones". "Arthur, my husband," She began in that melodious voice, "We had this conversation before. You know I must stay on my diet of sunshine and rainbows." That snapped Alfred a little out of his trance. He may not be good at "reading the atmosphere" as he'd often been told, but he knew bullshit when he heard it.

Arthur, however, ate it right up, his eyebrows turning down at the side, "Oh yes, your diet." The Lady relaxed as Arthur lowered them. Her eyes then locked on Alfred who gasped, his heart speeding up. He couldn't help it. Her very presence made the air seem heavy and thick.

She gasped as well, looking surprised, "Alfred? How are you here?"

"You know him?" Arthur asked, glancing between the two.

"Of course I do and so do you," She replied, "This is our little brother. This is Alfred all grown up."

"You've met me before?" Alfred managed, finding some voice. He was adapting fast to her crushing aura of power.

"That can't be!" Arthur protested, "Our little brother was little and cute! Not some rude oaf!"

"That was ten years ago," She told Arthur, her eyes flickering to the apple cores on the table then back to Alfred. Her face grew somber as she asked, "Arthur my love, did he eat those?"

Arthur didn't answer and Alfred managed to tear his eyes away from Lady Summer long enough to see why. Arthur had a glazed, far-off look in his eyes. It's like his mind is not here.

"What did you do to him?" Alfred demanded, starting to feel fuzzy in the head. The world wobbled at little as he tried to stand and he sat back down.

"It seems you shall be returning to our family," She said demurely, approaching Alfred. "Arthur and I have missed you so."

"What's going on?" He yelled. That is the real King Arthur, isn't it? I should have been more suspicious of him not knowing about the Americas or England. I shouldn't have eaten the fruit. "What did you do to him?"

He clutched at the table for support, feeling her gaze on him.

"Like you, he has eaten the grown food of the fae," She replied, glancing over at Arthur who still had that distant look in his eyes. "Humans who eat it will be forever trapped here. And you, my dear Alfred, are far too human for your own good."

"Trapped?" He whispered, "No way in hell!" He shot to his feet, but that made it a hundred-folds worse. He collapsed onto the grass, waves of nausea rolling over him. Something was crawling into his head, fogging it up.

"It is a testament to your resistance that it is only now hitting you," She said, circling him. "Arthur succumbed within a bite of our fruit. I am sorry Alfred, but it is too late."

"NO!" He cried, grabbing at the grass, he ripped it up by the roots, attempting to find something to cling to. I can overcome this! "My head!"

"Your memories of the human world are being taken," She answered, "You will soon only know of your life here."

"N-no!" He pleaded, shutting his eyes, wave after wave of burning magic was now coursing through him like his mind was a beach they lapping at. With each crash of theses waves, a little more of him was lost.

Another wave, another lost memory.

Fight this! Fight this! You're Alfred F. Jones for God's sake!

It was an impossible fight, but he fought it anyway. Another lap of the wave and that one really special Christmas with the Jones was gone. Another lap and so was his memory of Pa teaching him to swim.

On and on it went as he moaned for it to stop, moving his head from side to side. He was faintly aware of Lady Summer's voice, urging him to relax. That it would be over soon.

No, it won't, he wanted to scream, but it was taking all his concentration to fight this. HIs face was red and sweaty. His whole life was being washed away, but as those memories vanished, they were replaced with ones he'd forgotten. His childhood here in the woods was coming back, but the price for them was too high.

Not the Jones! He cried in his mind and a moment later, he wondered, The who? They were faces swallowed in shadow. Then came his memories of Matthew, of meeting his twin, and he too was washed away.

The last, though, was Ivan. Why him? Ivan's sad violet eyes stared at him and a fog devoured Ivan's face and he was gone. Alfred F. Jones was gone as well. All that remained was Alfred.

(End of Chapter 19. Alfred has regained his lost memories of the Fairyland but at the cost of his life outside. Is this the end for our hero or can he overcome this? Stay tuned to Chapter 20: The Land of the Fae)


	19. The Land of the Fae

Chapter 20

The Land of the Fae

"Wow, this is really tight across my chest," Alfred said, stretching his arms out to prove his point. Not only was the button-down pajama top close-fitting, the sleeves stopped an inch short of his wrists. "And the pants don't reach my ankles," He continued hardly noticing Arthur's deepening frown. "And man is it tight at the butt." He tried to glimpse around at Arthur's backside, asking, "Do you not have a butt or something?"

"Shut it, git!" His big brother snapped and then looked guilty at Alfred's pouty expression. "Sorry poppet, I didn't mean to scold you like that."

"S'okay, big brother," Alfred said, his smile returning, "Thanks for giving me your extra pajamas," He said, tugging at the bottom of his shirt; it didn't quite cover his stomach. "I like the green, even if, red, white, or blue is better."

"Are better," Arthur corrected off-handedly. He was wearing a cornflower blue nightgown, or what Alfred called a "dress" much to his big brother's annoyance. He even had a matching night cap with white cotton poof at the end. "I'm glad you like it. I sewed it myself."

"Really?" Alfred said, looking at all some of the embroidered designs, "So what are these bunny things with wings doing on it?"

"Th-they're nothing," Arthur said, blushing, he pushed Alfred forward, "Time for bed! You have a big day tomorrow!"

"Doing what?" All Alfred spent today and the day before that doing was just exploring and re-adjusting to things.

"Well, I need to take your measurements so I can fit you with new clothes now that you're so...er... different," Arthur faded off. He was as reluctant to mention Alfred's height as if Alfred being taller bothered him. It was another thing Alfred didn't get about big brother.

When Alfred had woken up on the kitchen floor a couple days ago, he had been amazed how small everything had become and that he now stood taller than big brother. His first comment upon noticing this had, in fact, been to tell Arthur, "You used to be so big."

Arthur had scowled, but Lady Summer intervened before he could say anything, telling Alfred, "You grew up."

"I did?" Alfred said, staring down at himself, admiring himself. Just look at those pecks, he thought proudly, tensing one after another. Oh yeah. Big brother had not look so amused especially when he said, "Look Big Brother!" and pushed up his sleeve to flex his bicep that he thought was amazingly big. "I'm like a giant!"

"He was cuter when he was small," Arthur mumbled. "Where did he go?"

Arthur's eyes got a clouded look as Lady Summer answered, "Does it matter? He's back."

"But where was I?" Alfred asked, but he winced and touched his temple. His last memories were chopped up and confusing. He could remember seeing someone one day. A woman in white. He had been following her out of the Summer Woods, to the forbidden area, and next thing he knew: he was here and in an adult body. His head ached.

"This way," Lady Summer had said, leading them into the Great Tree and Alfred's old room up inside it. It was still just as he remembered it, but everything had a fine coat of dust.

"Oh sorry about that!" Arthur had yelped, "I forgot to dust."

"Or forgot where the duster was," Lady Summer commented.

"No, I didn't, my Lady, I just misplaced it is all," Arthur clarified.

After a couple nights of getting reacquainted with things Alfred felt he was finally getting used to his new size. He ran into low-hanging door frames less and Arthur was softening to him again. Slipping back into their old roles had been so natural neither had really noticed it happening.

"Big brother, tell me a story! Pweeeeaaaaase!" Alfred whined as he dove onto his bed and snuggled under his quilt. The bed was a bit short so his feet hung off the edge a little when he would lay down.

"I already said yes, poppet, why do you keep asking?" Arthur chided him as the King sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Because it's fun!" Arthur replied, grinning.

His big brother groaned and rolled his eyes. "All right, what would like tonight? Another swashbuckling tale? The one ab-."

"The Hero and The Dragon!" Alfred piped.

Arthur sighed, "But I've told that to you two nights in a row now. How about a new one?"

"But I like that one!" Alfred protested.

"You really like heroes."

"They're the best."

"Hmmm," Arthur said, tapping his chin, he smirked, "Then I have a story for you. About a boy who heroically defeated the most evil witch ever."

"Really?" Alfred said, placing his arms on his knees and his chin on his arms.

"The witch was called Morgan Le Fay."

"Wait," Alfred interrupted, raising an eyebrow, "Isn't that a boy's name?"

"Well, not in this case."

"Where do you get these names?" Alfred said, smiling.

"I don't know," Arthur answered, frowning slightly, "They just come to me. Did you want to hear it or not?"

"I do! I do!"

"A long time ago, there was a very cruel woman named Morgan Le Fay who craved eternal youth. To keep herself beautiful and power her spell craft, she sacrificed hundreds, mostly children and youths."

"Wait," Alfred said, cutting in, "Is this a scary story?"

"Only a little scary."

"But where's the hero?"

"I'm getting there," He answered. "She was unstoppable. Not even the greatest wizard there ever was, Merlin, could stop her treachery and scheming. He did finally drive her from his land, but she went to another King's land. She married that king and gave him a son, but her evil plots were far from over."

"Where's the hero?" Alfred asked again, holding the quilt to just below his eyes. "I don't like this story."

"So," Arthur replied, "A servant, a young boy about...a young boy of about twelve, came to work at the castle. He had a special soul that Morgan could not resist."

"W-what did she do?" Alfred whimpered, his eyes darting around the shadowy room that was lit now by only a candle on the bedside table. "Did he become a g-g-ghost?"

"Not quite, but he was helped by spirits."

"W-what?" Alfred yelped, beginning to shake. It's the bed! Not me, not me.

"By that point Morgan Le Fay had sacrificed so many that she had hundreds of vengeful spirits haunting her, waiting for their chance. What she didn't realize about the boy was that he could speak with the dead."

Alfred squeaked.

"She left him to slowly die in her secret room, but while she was gone, the spirits came to the boy and offered to help. They had read her grimoire."

"Her what?"

"Her spell book."

"In exchange for his life, his True Sacrifice, they helped him cast a spell that would give the spirits the power to end her cruelty once and for all."

"H-How?"

"The spell he used allowed the vengeful spirits to rip Morgan's soul from her body and drag it into hell," Arthur answered, dropping his voice low at the end.

"That's not h-heroic! That's s-scary!" Alfred protested. "A hero wouldn't do that."

Arthur chuckled and leaned in, tucking Alfred in, he said, "And you know what else they say?"

"W-what?"

"That her Grimoire is still hidden in that room, waiting to be found. Her book of the black with all her darkest secrets, waiting for a new soul to seduce to the black like Morgan Le Fay."

Alfred started in wide-eyed horror at Arthur who ruffled his hair and smiled, saying, "Good night, poppet."

Alfred caught the sleeve of Arthur's dress, crying, "Wait!"

"Yes, poppet?" He said, quirking one of his huge eyebrows.

"D-do you think?" Alfred asked, glancing around, "I could sleep in your room tonight? You know, to protect you and all?"

"Well, I don't know," Arthur said in a drawn out voice as if considering it carefully.

"Pwease?" Alfred pleaded, clasping his hands together. "I won't kick you this time or punch or snore or sh-."

"I get it," Arthur said, holding up a hand. "You may."

"Yay!" Alfred cheered, scrambling out he followed Arthur to big brother's bedroom.

Arthur's room had a large bed with two quilts on it, all sewed by Arthur. A rocking chair was in the corner with one of Arthur's latest "knitting projects" resting atop it. The walls were filled with Arthur's needlecraft.

The room had none of the awesomeness of Alfred's room. Where he had shelves and shelves packed with crystals, fossils, stones, pine cones, his slingshot, and all sorts of things Alfred had found on his adventures around the Summer Woods, Arthur had doilies and moldy-old books. Though there was one cool thing Arthur had given Alfred, a toy soldier that Alfred kept on a wooden shelf above his bed along with all his other "most prized" knickknacks.

They crawled into bed, each staying to their own side, but Alfred felt better. Arthur felt asleep first and Alfred spared the man a look. He looks lonely like Lady Summer.

He'd once asked Arthur why he didn't stay in Lady Summer's room and Arthur said Eternals have different needs than humans. Sleep is not the same for them. Alfred had been confused.

Love. He stared at the half moon, wondering about that. An image of a sunflower pops into his head whenever he thinks about that word. What's a sunflower have to do with love? He shakes his head, thinking he should just go to sleep.

He'll visit Lady Summer in the morning before Arthur makes him breakfast. For some reason at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, not a soul can be found near the kitchen or dining room and Arthur is always upset about that.

* * *

><p>"N-No!" Alfred cried, sitting up so fast he almost tumbled out of bed. He took in his surroundings. I'm in big brother's room. He left early. Alfred was a little disappointed. He'd had another of those nightmares; the ones he couldn't remember.<p>

Something warm and wet landed on the back of his hand. He held it up and touched his cheek, finding another. Tears? Wiping them off with his sleeve, he hurried back to his room and changed back into his brown pants and long-sleeve woolen shirt. He paused, staring at his bomber jacket. It's too hot, he decided and left it draped over the chair; he headed out.

In the hallway, he paused to gaze out of a window toward the kitchen. Though obscured from view by the treetops, he could see dark smoke billowing from the kitchen area. Big Brother's cooking again. That explained why it was so empty and quiet right now.

Drawn by a strange curiosity, instead of heading down, he mounted the steps, heading to highest and largest room in the Great Tree. It was Lady's Summer and it too had a difference from what he remembered waking up in the kitchen. The room was still empty as before with that silvery pool of water in the center, but now a boy floated two feet above it, suspended in the air, and parallel to it.

The boy had silver-white hair and a rather prissy get-up. He wore a brown jacket and pants, but the jacket and white dress shirt underneath were torn at the front and had red stains. Blood.

The boy's white-gloved hands were resting on his exposed stomach and Alfred could see signs of a healing wound in the boy's chest near his heart. His eyes were shut and his face looked serene. The boy's chest didn't rise and fall at all. Is he dead? Alfred wondered, coming to the edge of the pool, his boots almost touching the water.

"Do not disturb him or the water," Said a voice, soothing and melodious like a bubbling brook. He spun around to see Lady Summer standing ten feet away.

"I-I was onl-"

"Being curious as you always are," She finished, a smile ghosting her lips.

"Who is he?" Alfred asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the boy.

"A good question," She answered, walking, no gliding for how smooth her movement was, to the edge of the pool. "I found him near in the outer woods. He disturbed our forest with his sloppy spell."

"Sloppy?" Alfred asked, rocking back and forth on his feet. He could never stay still.

"He didn't know what he was doing," She explained. The boy's face was soft and iridescent from the white light that seemed to emanate from him. "It only barely worked and it flung him into our world like a leaf blown on a wind. He is lucky I felt him coming and could be there to save him. He was at the brink of death when he arrived."

"If you saved him, why is asleep?"

"I healed his body, but I can do little for his mind."

"Huh?"

"His body is saved, but his mind remains stuck between the realm of life and death. His soul refuses to return, thus his body remains in this static state."

"But that doesn't make sense! Nobody would choose not to live!" Alfred insisted. Nobody would choose to die!

"Oh, Alfred," She said, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, "I forgot how sweet you are. I do not know his reasons well, but something troubles his heart. Something he would rather die than face."

"That stupid!" He blurted out and colored, adding, "My Lady. I just mean no one would do that! He's not a coward! I just know it! He'd wake up if he could."

Lady Summer didn't reply and after a moment of silence, Alfred asked, "What's with that wound in his chest? Did he fall on something?"

"He had a knife in his chest when I found him."

"A knife?" Alfred gasped, "Like someone hurt him?" Who would do that? Alfred couldn't imagine such a cruel person.

"Or he hurt himself."

"No way," Alfred disagreed, shaking his emphatically from side to side. "People don't kill themselves. Someone did this!"

"Alfred," Lady Summer chuckled, "You're optimism about people is quite endearing."

"Wait, what if that jerk is still out there," Alfred said, glancing around, "He could attack us."

"It is fine, if there is anyone who came with him," She said, meeting Alfred's eyes, "I am sure he is no danger to us."

"If the boy is not from here, then where is he from?"

"Outside. You and Arthur have been there too."

"Been there," Alfred tried to wrap his mind around what she said. His head was hurting again. "No, we've always been here."

"Have you?" She said, tilting her head, "Or is that all you remember? According to your mind, you became a man overnight. Does it not seem strange? Perhaps your mind has a gap in memories?"

"I'd remember that!" He said, crossing his arms. His head was throbbing now. Stop this.

"The spell of the Fae won't allow you to remember."

Alfred stared at her, his brow furrowing and then he broke into laughter, slapping his thigh, he pointed at her, saying, "Good one, my Lady! You almost had me."

"It is not a joke, Alfred," She sighed, shaking her head slightly, "You are under a spell. It takes away all memory of anything that would make you desire to leave this place. That is why Arthur does not remember his beloved England."

"No, we aren't," Alfred protested, "Why are you telling me this?" He felt hot and sticky like his body was getting sick with something. What is this icky feeling?

"Because I wish for you to break it," She answered, "But alas, it's hold over you seems as strong as it is over Arthur. Within moments most of this conversation will be lost from your mind."

"Then why don't you break it?" He yelled, clutching the side of his head, nauseated.

"I cannot. That spell was crafted by General Autumn and it is not within my power to break it," She replied grimly, "But Alfred you are a child of Noon, strongest I've ever seen, my very essence flows in your veins, you c-."

"I'm gonna see Arthur," He interrupted, knowing that was rude. "Sorry," He mumbled, pivoting on his heel, he ran out of there. I hafta tell Arthur what a fruitcake she is! She's crazy! There's no spell! Halfway there, he slowed, confused why he was running. What did I need to tell Arthur?

By the time he reached the kitchen and found Arthur beating back a fire in the kiln with a wet rag, he didn't remember why he even came to Arthur at all. There's a floating boy in her room. Is that why? Must be! His mind concluded.

"Big Brother!" Alfred greeted as he tromped down the steps, skipping every other.

"Oh, good morning, Alfie!" Arthur called, as he picked up one of the wooden buckets of water he kept nearby when he cooked. He tossed it in and there was a loud hiss from the kiln as the flames went out and steam rose up. "Breakfast is ready!" He declared, dropping it and taking off his pink apron.

When his big brother's back was turned, Alfred reached for some of the strawberries in one of the basket, plunking them into his mouth just as Arthur said in a warning voice, "Alfred."

"What?" Alfred said innocently, squeaking when juice dribbled down his chin.

"Those are for the festival, poppet," Arthur said, coughing a little as he waved away the excess smoke, "And besides you'll spoil your breakfast."

After swallowing, Alfred's head felt so much better. Clearer. Seeing the charred and gurgling pie-shaped slab Arthur set on the table, however, made him feel a new kind of queasy.

"Are you sure this is delicious food?"

"Of course it is!" Arthur insisted, frowning, "It's the best Yorkshire Pudding you'll ever have! Now let's eat up, poppet."

If this was "delicious" food Alfred was scared to try what Feliciano's touted was his "super-delicious" pasta.

* * *

><p>"I'm telling big brother what a pervert you are!" Alfred teased, causing Feliciano to jump.<p>

"Stop doing that!" Felciano said, setting his pallet and brush on a table by his easel. "For the last time those are...," He trailed off, noticing Alfred's barely contained snicker. Alfred knew damn well they were cherubs. Feliciano had told him that countless times, but Alfred enjoyed teasing the guy. "I hear you ate some apples the other day," Feliciano said, his face becoming downcast. "If only I'd not left you alone that day."

Why? What's wrong with apples? Alfred wondered. "Well, I guess," He said, rubbing at his forearm, he looked away and asked, "So Feli, I was wanting to ask a favor."

"Okay, Alfie, what do you need?"

"Can I borrow some of your paints and a canvas?"

"You want to paint?" Feliciano chirped happily, grabbing Alfred's hands, he giggled, "That's great! When do you need them?"

"Now, please."

* * *

><p>"Alfie, I bought us some tea and crum...pets," Arthur finished weakly, his mouth dropping at the inside of Alfred's room. He almost dropped the wooden tray. "What in God's name happened here?"<p>

"Oh, Arthur thank goodness your here ve ~" Felciano said, rushing over and pointing at the room. "It's just awful." Alfred's walls and floors were covered in finger- paintings and Alfred was covered head to toe in paint smears. "He doesn't listen at all when I say paint the negative space first!"

Arthur scowled at him. Feliciano! "What is going on?" He demanded, setting the tray on a night table he grabbed Feliciano by the arm.

Alfred didn't even look up, just continued dipping his fingers in one of six paint buckets, each had a different color, and slathering it on the wall, he was drawing some kind of stick person, this one had a scarf.

"He wanted to paint," Felciano admitted sheepishly, "So I showed him how to mix some and left him to take what he needed. When I came back, I found this, this poor art! I didn't know he would take buckets-worth and do this!"

"How long ago did you give him the paints?"

"Oh, a little after lunch." With Feliciano that could fall within a three hour time range to before Siesta.

Arthur shook his head and went over to Alfred. "Poppet?" He said, leaning over, but the boy kept painting as if he hadn't heard him. "Alfred you've made a right mess of your room."

"Shh," Alfred hissed, sticking his tongue out as he worked. "I've got to get this out before I forget."

"What are these?" Arthur said, staring around the room.

"Bad art if you ask me," Feliciano said and Arthur scowled at him. Though as he looked Alfred's stick figures it was clear Alfred needed a lot of work.

Alfred shook his head and dunked his fingers in the black paint bucket he had, drawing yet another version of the scarf stick man. The man had a small smile and looked, if Arthur didn't know better, like the stick person was giggling.

"Alfred, stop this!" Arthur said, sternly. Alfred continued though. "Alfred!" He said, stamping a foot, but still Alfred continued as if he'd said nothing.

He grabbed Alfred by the shoulder and turned them face to face. "Snap out of it, Alfie!" He cried.

Alfred blinked, staring at Arthur in confusion, his face broke into a grin as he laughed, "Man, big bro," Big bro? Is it just me or does his English become dreadful sometimes, "You need to chill out!"

Better shake him again, Arthur was about ready to slap the boy, but Alfred finally seemed to come out of it and look at what he'd done. "Wow," He said looking around at the walls and the floors. "I made quite a mess."

"Was a canvas too much?"

"Well, Feliciano gave me one," He nodded to the back corner by the door where there was one covered in drawings, "But it wasn't big enough, but I couldn't stop. These images were in my head and I just had to get them out."

"Alfie," Arthur said with concern, exchanging a look with an equally concerned Feliciano.

It was mostly the same three pictures. One was of a stick figure family of fifteen. Thirteen kids? They had different hair colors and styles. The next kind of figure was hard to make out. For some reason Alfred had used a brown paint that almost blended with the wooden walls. The man had blonde hair, wore glasses, and had violet eyes. There was also what appeared to be a white bear.

The last though was by far the most common. It was the scarfed man. His mouth made an upturned c-shape as if he were giggling like a child. Arthur found him creepy. He had a scarf and violet eyes.

"What are these images?"

Alfred's eyes glazed over a little and he frowned, before answering, "I'm not sure." Alfred's eyes wandered to the left toward his most freshly drawn picture of the scarfed man, "But they all feel important, especially him. Like they mean something. I feel like I forgot something. Do you ever feel that?"

Arthur paused at that, his brow furrowing, his mind answered, Yes, every bloody day, but his mouth replied, "No, never." No sense in adding to the boy's troubles. "Alfred, you're going to have to clean this all up."

"But I can't," He said, "I can't erase them. I need them here." His eyes went up and around and his face pinched in pain. "I need them."

"Alfie," Arthur began but Feliciano interrupted, "If I may make a suggestion, why not let them stay. I am sure the Lady would not mind and if Alfred like them then no harm."

"But he's being daft is what it is and I don't want to encourage this any further."

"I won't. I just want these, they make me feel better," Alfred said, smiling innocently, "Pwease, big brother."

"Oh, I really do hate when you pull that expression," Arthur grumped, relenting. Alfred jumped up with a hooray and ran over to give Feliciano a hug that not only covered the man in pain, but Arthur swear he could bone's cracking in. When Alfred released the fairy, he slumped to the ground, gasping for air.

"Well, at least go to the bathing area and get yourself cleaned up," Arthur said, turning to both of them, "Dinner's in an hour." He scowled as Feliciano screamed and keeled over. You're not pulling that one again.

* * *

><p>After Arthur left, Alfred stared for a long time at the scarfed figure he had drawn on the wall. Rummaging through his thoughts, he searched for something. A memory that the fog in his head refused to surrender.<p>

He touched the drawing and then his heart, it ached for all the others, but this one most of all. Before he knew what he was doing his head began to tilt forward and he blinked in surprise when his lips touched the painted lips of his drawing.

He backed up, wiping the paint off his lips in embarrassment. Why did I do that? He was relieved to see Feliciano had actually fallen asleep on the floor and was now lightly snoring.

Sinking to his knees, he clawed desperately through his mind, wanting to understand now what his mind was hiding. Every time he was close to something, it slipped through his fingers like he were grabbing water.

His lips twitched, forming something, "I...Iv...Iv..." and it was gone. He collapsed, curling into a ball. "Why?" He demanded of no one. Why can't I remember? It hurt to think about it, yet the stick figures were all around him, all familiar, all strangers. Their eyes felt accusatory; the scarfed one most of all.

"What do you want?" He whimpered, clutching his knees to his chest. He needed more fruit. I feel better then. It always made the pain go away. Yes, that's the answer. More fruit.

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(End of Chapter 20. Alfred feels troubled. Like his mind has forgotten something his heart still remembers.)


	20. Paths That Converge

Chapter 21

Paths That Converge

"Never seen 'im," The pawn shop owner replied, polishing the watches laid out on the pine countertop that divided him from Pa Jones.

"Are you sure?" Pa Jones asked, tapping on the wanted poster he had laid in front of the man. "His name is Alfred F. Jones."

"Sorry," The owner said, turning his head, he spit into his tobacco bucket on the floor. He was chewing a wad of the stuff and his teeth were stained the same color as the liver spots on his bald head. He had a few wiry gray hairs that stuck out around his head. He wore a frayed brown vest over an equally frayed white button-down shirt with two buttons missing.

"Then can you at least tell me what the Russians are doing here?" Pa Jones asked, flashing his best Jones' grin. His first shock upon arrival in Montana State had been the sight of two Russian soldiers. He had come riding here on horseback as soon as he saw the wanted poster on a shop in Colorado State. He needed to warn Alfred.

"The Ruskies?" The man sneered, his upper lip curling into a snarl. Dropping his voice, he leaned forward, his brown eyes meeting Pa's, he said in a low voice, "Those vermin rode in 'ere before the snows came, actin' like this town is theirs'. More than one person would love to see 'em gone. The only thing keepin' everyone from riotin' is that they camp outside the town where we don't smell their stink so often."

"I 'eard their little queen Ivan's here in person too," Pa jested.

The owner snorted at that, remarking with a chuckle, "He ain't so tough. I don't see why the whole world's afraid of that pussy."

Bet you wouldn't say that to his face. "And what'd he come for? This boy?"

"Damned if I know. I just want them gone, Mr...?"

"Buffalo. Bill Buffalo," He answered with a wink. He had on his black cowboy hat, his leather trench coat, cowboy boots, and his - of course ever charming smile. While he might not be recognized by his face, his name would be. Pa Jones was a nickname that had stuck to him after all his adventures - most exaggerated or untrue, and it would get attention.

"Well, Mr. Buffalo, I recommend that you 'ead down the road 'ere and ask some other folks, 'cause if you ain't buyin' I got other stuff to attend to," the owner replied, nodding at the door.

Pa sighed and tipped his hat, saying, "Sorry for trou-." The words froze in his mouth and his smile dropped off as his eyes locked onto one of the hunting knives on the wall. Several were suspended there by wire hooks, on display, but only one got his attention.

"Ah, you got good taste," The owner said with a half-smile as he followed Jones' gaze to the knife. "That one's a rare beauty."

Rare indeed. Only one twin. One that was hanging under the left side of his coat in a sheath just like the one on the wall. A sheath that had turquoise beads embroidered into its middle in the form of an eagle. His knife, like the one on the wall, also had a handle twined in black leather and a triangular metal stud at the end.

Alfred. "May I?" He asked, forcing his smile back.

"Of course!" The owner agreed, plucking it off the wire rack, he handed it to Jones.

Pa Jones unsnapped the leather strap that kept the knife sheathed and drew it out, lifting it up to see easier in the afternoon light. Little light got in through the shop's grimy windows, but he could see clearly enough. The blade's tip was curved up at the end, but at the bottom of the blade it was serrated and right before the hilt was a tiny inscription: AFJ.

His heart plummeted and worry for his son welled in his gut. Is Alfred okay? He would never let go of this knife willingly. Plastering on his best grin, he inquired, "May I ask where you got this?"

"Just some stranger passing through," He responded. A lie. One that told more than the owner realized. First, it was clear from the look in the man's eyes that he remembered the stranger which meant he knew this person. That meant it was a local; one he didn't want to get in trouble with.

Pa sighed. This was going to cost some money - money his family didn't have, but he would sell his skin if he had to to protect his children. Fortunately, it didn't take too much to buy the knife and the truth.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Closed!" Barked a gruff voice as Pa Jones stepped into The Cuban Cigar, shutting the door behind him, the bells above it jingled. The saloon doors on the other side of the bar flew open and a man with dreadlocks tied back in a ponytail entered. He wore a long-sleeve green shirt under a yellow and stained apron. Nibbling at an ice cream cone in his hand, he said, "I thought the door was locked."

"Hmm?" Pa Jones hummed, glancing at it as he tucked away the hair clip he had used to jimmy the lock, "It opened when I tried it."

"Paraguay," The man grumbled under his breath, throwing a glare over his shoulder. There are two. Pa could hear the second one in the kitchen, washing what sounded like dishes while whistling.

Before the man could tell him to leave, Pa put on his best grin, rubbing at the end of his mustache, said, "Well, since I'm in, surely you won't turn away a thirsty traveler."

"Depends amigo, what are you drinking?" He grunted.

"Tequila."

Carlos smirked. Pa was sure this was Carlos. He fits the description. "Sit down," He ordered, gesturing at a rickety stool in front of the bar. When he squatted down, disappearing behind the bar top, Pa took his chance to scan the room. It was cramped inside, but halfway remodeled. Several old planks had been ripped out and replaced with newer ones. The three tables in the corners, each with two chairs, were all of new wood, not a scratch or knick on them. Someone has money.

Pa sat down just as Carlos reappeared, slamming a shot glass down in front of him, he poured tequila in it. "Nice place you have. Business been well?" Pa commented, picking up the glass and letting the liquid roll around in it.

"If you call los rusos good business, then yes," Carlos answered, stuffing the remainder of his ice cream cone in his mouth. Some of the melted pink liquid dropped onto his fingers and he wiped them off on his apron.

"Do you know why they are here?"

Carlos shrugged. "No sé," He replied, "Are you drinking that or not? It's tequila, not tea. You don't sip it."

Pa gulped the shot, wincing at the fiery burn as the alcohol slid down his throat. He had never cared for drinking. Perhaps because his father had been such a violent alcoholic and had given Pa more than one of his scars - a truth he had never shared with Alfred or the others. He preferred they believe their grandfather to have been a good man. After all, no good came from speaking ill of the dead.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the wanted poster and set it on the table, he asked, "Have you seen this Alfred F. Jones?" A guilty look flickered across Carlos' face, but he buried it under a scowl. Not fast enough.

"No," He snapped, nodding at the empty glass in Pa's hand, "Finished?"

Pa's grin widened and, ignoring Carlos' annoyed glared, he asked, "Are you sure?"

"Sí," He snarled, gesturing for the glass.

Pa set it down in front of him and when Carlos reached of it, he whispered, "Wrong answer." In a flash, he slammed Carlo's hand onto the counter and stabbed the cuff of his shirt sleeve to the table with Alfred's knife. Then quick as lightening, Pa grabbed Carlos' by the front of his shirt, dragging him halfway up onto the counter, Pa pressed the blade of his own knife against Carlos' throat.

Carlos was just registering it all and opening his mouth to shout when Pa warned in a low voice, "Don't make a sound." Carlo's eyes flickered to the blade by his wrist, but Pa crushed that idea, saying, "Don't even think about it."

Carlos' eyes went sideways as if pondering a way to get his companion in the kitchen's attention, but as they both listened to the man whistle and sing out of tune to some Spanish song, Carlos and Pa shared a mutual look of: He'd be useless.

"Wha...," He hissed as Pa's blade pressed deeper, drawing a fine line of blood. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he asked, "What do you want?"

"Information," Pa replied, nodding at Alfred's blade, "You sold that knife to a pawnshop nearby. Don't deny it," He snapped as Carlos was about to protest. "Now tell me how you got it or, amigo, I'll be making your life very, very short. Now what's it gonna be?"

Carlos's eyes widened and he swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead. Licking his lips, he told Pa Jones everything.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Raivis had lost count of the days since the night he ran away. A couple days after he abandoned the Russians a terrible storm had opened up in the sky. Like heaven had been split open. He had taken cover under a tree and clung to it as the high winds knocked branches down around him and threatened to blow him away. Then as it quick as it started; it stopped.

Ever since then though he had kept walking and walking, but feeling like he wasn't getting anywhere. How big is this forest? His mind was reaching a dreadful conclusion: I'm trapped.

He had tried climbing a tree to see, but had been too scared to get higher than mid-way. He gave up and eventually gave up on getting out of here. Somehow he was traveling a big circle as if he was in some kind of loop. It was depressing to think about.

Snow had started falling a few days ago, but luckily the winters here were nothing compared to Russian winters so he hardly felt it. I guess my years in Russia gave me something.

In front of him his small fire crackled, making shadows dance on the boulder behind him. It was the best shelter he could find. He didn't understand what was going on how he could keep passing the same set of landmarks again and again, unable to escape them, but right now he needed to first last out the winter.

I miss Eduard, he thought, staring up at the sky. There no stars tonight, just a veil of clouds, but he could see the hazy orb of the moon glowing behind it. Tomorrow would be a full moon.

Even if he were somehow trapped in this forest, one thing hadn't changed: the passage of time.

He heard a squawk to his right and looked up to see that Icelander's bird swoop down and land on the other side of the fire. It glared at him a moment and then dropped three fish before flying up onto a branch and perching there.

"Th-thank you," He stammered, but the bird puts it back to him. It had not allowed him near it since that day, but for some reason it kept bringing him food. He might have starved weeks ago if not for the Icelander King's bird. He didn't understand, but he was not one to kick a gift horse in the mouth.

After retrieving the fish and impaling them on sticks to roast over the fire, he found his mind trailing back to the first couple days after the storm when that bird tried to kill him.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::~Weeks Ago~::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Raivis was squatting over a puddle, scooping water out with his hand and drinking it. He cringed at the muddy flavor, but it took forever to drink the morning dew off the leaves. The only warning was a sound of something rocketing at him through the air and a reflection in the water.

He dove left, the black and white blur just grazing his shoulder, nicking his black undershirt. Rolling over, he grabbed his spear in the process and shot to his feet, looking all over. What the hell was that?

He caught it, turning back at him, it dove at him, causing himself to stumble, the thing again clipped his ear and he yelped. Touching it he felt blood leaking from a cut above his temple.

It's trying to kill me!

"S-stop! Stop!" He cried, running for it. He ducked and weaved among the foliage trying to be a difficult target. Whatever was after him was hot on his heels. It wooshed past him on several close calls, but he was evading it using the forest until, to his horror, the forest opened into a small clearing.

The world hates me, he concluded. He didn't know why this thing was after his blood, but from its squawking and hate-filled screeching it was clearly pissed.

He had to either turn sharply and lose momentum or try to make it through the clearing faster than the thing could get him. He chose the latter and ran for all his worth. Behind him, he could hear it whistling through the air and feel it aimed right away the back of his skull.

If only I hadn't left my helmet at the camp! He thought bitterly, sure this was the end. He shut his eyes - and tripped onto a root, landing face first in wet grass. There was a loud ka-thunk above him to his left.

It took him a moment to realize what had happened. It's the Icelander's bird! Its beak was stuck in a tree and it was trying to dislodge itself. Not an ordinary bird. That much was obvious from what he had seen earlier and from how it had attacked him.  
>"Poor thing," He said and it paused. Is it glaring at me? He looked down at his gold and silver plated breastplate with Russian sickle in scarlet across the front. He wore a black undershirt beneath it and sleeveless tunic beneath that. He still had on its gold and silver leggings. All had once been well-polished, but were not scratched up and dingy. Raivis had considered abandoning them, but if he got out of here they would be worth some money.<p>

The bird squawked angrily, trying to pull itself out, it beat its wings, but it couldn't get free. I could leave it. It did just attack me. Yet Raivis could not bring himself to do that. He remembered how concerned the Icelander King was for the bird and how it reminded him of his own friendship with Eduard.

"D-do you want help?" He asked timidly. The bird continued trying to push itself out. "I'll help if promise not to kill me. Okay?" I'm talking to a bird, he thought wryly. "I w-won't hurt you."

The bird finally calmed down and stared at him warily as he tenderly grabbed its beak, placing his other hand on the tree, he dislodged it. The moment it was free it took off with a ear-piercing squawk and flew over to a branch, staring at him.

He grabbed his spear off the ground, dropped when he stumbled, ready in case it attacked, but it nodded and flew off. He sighed in relief, thinking that was the end of it, but that night it came back with food.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::~Present~::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Y-your r-really helpful," He commented shyly, but the bird continued to ignore him as it roosted up in a tree. It brought him food and then just slept nearby. Before sunrise it would always be gone. He didn't know what to think. "D-did something happen to your friend?" Was he eaten by the grizzlies? Raivis felt a pang of guilt. "I lost someone too...," He trailed off, leaning against the boulder.

It's no use. The bird hates me. He shut his eyes, just wanting this nightmare to end. Soon the snow would be a foot deep and he would need better shelter than this. At least he didn't have to worry about the wildlife bothering him anymore. Wherever he was; it was a very quiet and peaceful place. Not like the rest of the forest.

Wherever I am...

Slowly he fell into a deep sleep.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"It happened again," Gilbert reported, "Another house collapsed. Just an old one with a not-so-awesome roof." Roofs were built in Canada at steep angles for this reason, but some were just being overwhelmed by the amount of snow.

"Was anyone hurt?" Matthew asked in concern, setting down his glasses, he massaged the bridge of his nose.

"An elderly man, but not seriously. My awesome men managed to pull him out. We took him to the shelter."

"This can't continue," Matthew said heavily. He was dressed in a thick brown wool coat with straps across the front that formed an X-shape. Gilbert had on a black coat with the red maple leaf stitched on the back. He had it custom made by his "awesome" tailor a few months ago. They were wearing their coats and trying to use as little firewood and heating oil as they could. In Matthew's opinion, it was not fair for them to be toasty while the kingdom froze.

"The people are putting the best face they can on it," Gilbert continued with a cocky grin, "They know of Russia's whimsies and they're angry - at Russia, not you," He quickly added when Matthew's shoulders slumped.

"They should hate me if they knew the truth," Matthew said, "It's all my fault. And worse yet Francis is involved in this too." There had been little word from outside as the snows had virtually isolated Canada from the rest of the world. One message had slipped through. A warning from Francis that Ivan had put a bounty on Matthew's head. Many of the Lords were in shock that a Lord would do that to another Lord. What can anyone do about it though? That was the bigger question.

Lately, Matthew found his mind slipping into a dark spiral of thoughts. Everyday seemed grimmer than the last. If only Alfred were here, he often thought, feeling all the more depressed he was not.

"Majesty!" Gilbert yelled, slamming his palms on Matthew's desk, causing the Prince to jump.

"Maple what?" Matthew yelped, blinking in surprise.

"You spaced out," Gilbert stated, his face very concerned. He had been sticking very close to Matthew lately. Is he monitoring me? "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Matthew insisted.

"You didn't look fine. Your eyes glazed over and you looked like you were far away."

"I'm fine. Would you stop pestering me?" Matthew snapped, his tone almost biting. "I just haven't been sleeping well," before Gilbert could suggest anymore sleeping tonics or medicine, he asked, "How are supplies?"

Gilbert's face turned graver as he straightened and stated, "Like most kingdoms, after the Iceland scenario, we began keeping a large stock of food in case of this very situation. Unfortunately, last year's crop and the one before it were not so good. We have found it hard to get more into the kingdom as few want to sell their supplies - not with Russia always threatening. With what we've got, we can go without one summer."

"And if this continues to the next?"

Gilbert remained silent.

Matthew slumped in his cushioned chair, feeling defeated. "I have been reading Arthur's old books lately. The ones from that room. One in particular caught my interest," He began.

"Book learning was never my strength, your majesty. The awesome me needs more physical things," He said with a grin and a wink.

Matthew rolled his eyes and continued, "It doesn't say much, but from what I gather the Four Eternals are beings of stability in our world. It suggests they have limits, too."

"You mean that General Winter theory again?" Gilbert said skeptically. Matthew sighed. Alfred had been the only one to listen and entertain the thought that perhaps General Winter was its own entity. Francis, Gilbert, and Peter all dismissed even the notion.

"Just listen. I think that whatever is going on has a price. I don't think Ivan can just bury the world in ice without consequence."

"I don't know. He buried Iceland quite fine and our kingdom and France are getting snowed under without a problem."

"It's just a feeling. You're always going on about following your gut instinct. I'm listening to mine and I think there is a price. Something were not seeing yet."

"I'm not agreeing, but from what the bedtime stories I heard," He said, pausing for emphasis. "Lady Summer was Winter's opposite. His only equal. Of course, that's just a story."

"So your skeptical of my theory, but you believe Alfred might succeed in finding Lady Summer?" Matthew sneered, his tone and face taking a darker turn as he said in a low voice, "You believe in that brat who abandoned us?"

"Majesty?" Gilbert said, his face etched with concern.

Matthew shook his head, snapping out of it, he said, "I'm fine. Stop looking at me that way."

"If my awesome self may say so, Majesty, Alfred didn't abandon us."

Matthew groaned, slumping in his seat, "Again with that insane quest to the fairyland. Why are my theories impossible, but that is?"

"I never said they were, only that I was skeptical."

"Well, I'm afraid I don't share your faith in my estranged brother," He said, his tone bitter, "I have no choice. I can't bear to see my kingdom suffer because of my selfishness. If by this coming summer we do not find a way to undo this curse or change Lord Ivan's mind, I will have no choice but to turn myself over to Russia."

"You can't!" The Captain snapped, slamming his knuckled onto the desk, his eyes fervent and angry. "That's suicide!"

"What else can I do?" Matthew retorted, leaping to his feet. His whole body was shaking and his firsts were at his side. "Sit here and watch my kingdom destroyed?"

"Even if you turn yourself over, what good would it do? That sadistic bastard would probably destroy the kingdom anyway just for fun and make you watch."

"I know," Matthew answered, "But what else is there but to beg and hope for mercy."

"There is fighting back," Gilbert replied, standing straighter.

"As in war? Against Russia?" Matthew said, shaking his head, "Impossible."

"You don't know that."

"We would lose."

"Not if the other kingdoms united with us. We cou-."

"They wouldn't," He interrupted, feeling a sad pang as he looked away from Gilbert, "Not after what happened."

"You can say it," Gilbert responded, his expression dark, "After how they annihilated Prussia."

"It was a slaughter," Matthew said, swallowing hard, "Forgive me for mentioning it. It was before my time, but I've read the books. Out of the end of that Empire came a worse villain."

"Russia," Gilbert added, "Ivan was a cunning son of a bitch is all." Seeing the Matthew's sharp look, he quickly said, "Sorry to be so frank, but he was. He saw his opportunity well and built his Empire on the bones of my father's kingdom. Everyone though his kingdom to weak and pathetic. They underestimated him."

"The kingdoms won't unite. It can't be done. Not anymore. The Germanic nations are broken."

"They still have life," Gilbert insisted, "And from what I've heard the Nordics are not as aloof as they seem. They don't appreciate what's been done to Iceland, especially Norway's king even if he doesn't show it - or any emotion for that matter. Spain is unhappy and Italy, well you know how mysterious there Lord is."

Matthew nodded. Lord Milano of the House of Vargas had not been seen ever. No one knew what he really looked like. He avoided all public events or excursions, sending emissaries in his place. The Italian Lord was an enigma among the kingdoms.

"Alfred's right," Gilbert continued, "We can't stand and let that bastard have his way. We need to fight back while we still can."

"It wouldn't work."

"Majesty, you don't know that."

"No," He said, shaking his head, "We should try to appease Ivan rather than start a war. If I had just submitted to subjugation..."

"You can't be serious!" Gilbert exclaimed. "I have never been prouder of serving you than the day you stood up to him."

"But it was for nothing."

"Stop whining! What is wrong with you?" Gilbert shouted and then realized what he had done, "My apologies, Majesty, but it's hard to see you like this. You've alway been a bit pessimistic, but these days it's ridiculous."

"I'm being realistic," Matthew rebuked, frowning. Why does he keep pestering me? I'm fine. Matthew rubbed at his wrists, keeping the cuff down to hide the bandages there. Lately he would wake to find cuts on his wrists or other places with no memory of how he got them. Sometimes he would be in his study and then the next he would wake to find himself out in the courtyard or stranger places. Don't think about it. Gilbert's being paranoid. That's all.

"I urge you to reconsider, your Majesty," Gilbert said, "At least ask the other kingdoms and learn their feelings first. They are surely as tired and afraid of Russia's uncontrolled power as we are."

"Send letters. Whatever," Matthew said, waving him to go. At least that will keep Gilbert off my back. "I don't care." His head felt dull.

Gilbert frowned and opened his mouth, but Matthew cut him off, saying, "You are dismissed."

"As you wish," Gilbert said, bowing curtly, he turned around and left.

The moment he was gone, Matthew sunk down into his chair, bracing himself. Another blackout was coming. He could feel it. He just hoped it was only shallow cuts and strange places he woke to this time. I'm fine. He kept saying. This is nothing.

"Alfred," He pleaded, "Where are you?"


	21. Time To Meet

Chapter 23

Time To Meet

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Ah, I love siesta ve ~

Feliciano, having just settled into his hammock, was already drifting into a pleasant dream. With every breeze, the hammock ropes creaked against the two willows that supported it and rocked back and forth. Overhead birds sung and pixies flitted through the glimmers of sunlight that pierced the emerald-colored canopy.

This was the life.

A smell of rose and lavender made his nose twitch; it reminded him of someone from a long time ago. Alfred was like her in many ways. Same scent; same love of life. Hopefully not the same tragic end.

Something rustled in the leaves and grass nearby. The air temperature plummeted and shadow passed over his shut eyes. Popping them open, he sat up in alarm, rubbing at his forearms, all the hair raised on them. Tensed, his eyes scanned around for something they could not see.

He was not alone.

"Feliciano!" came a melodious voice that caused him to jump in a alarm.

"I didn't skip on... oh, my Lady," he said, surprised and relieved. "It's an hon-"

She held up an arm to stop him and said in a voice tinged with urgency, "Did it come through here?"

"Did what, my Lady?" Feliciano asked, stifling a yawn. Why did everything always interrupt his siestas?

"That thing was here. You are fortunate," she said. As her eyes narrowed a subtle inner glow in their iris made her whites stand out. Heat radiated off her. "A ghost came through here."

"Mama mia!" He yelped, falling backwards out of his hammock. No sooner did he spill onto the ground then he had crawled behind a tree, white flag already in either hand. "Where? Where did it go?"

She cleared her throat, tilted her head to one side, her hair fell over her shoulder like a golden waterfall. His gaze followed where she was staring. Blushing from head to toe, he apologized profusely as he pulled the hem of his down to cover his privates.  
>"P-pardon my Lady. It's just during siestas my ravioli loves the fresh air."<p>

"I'd rather I did not know that," she said, looking away until Feliciano had donned his pants.

"Is it gone? The spirit?" He asked, eyeing everywhere. His bruised forehead throbbed where he had smacked it earlier on a branch while attempting to flee Arthur.

"It got away," The Lady said, her eyes narrowing and her face growing grim as she stared around. "It's only seems like a breeze, but it is more. I detected it earlier when Al went to the gardens. It was trying to reach him."

"It's after him?"

"I believe it's been following him. Likely since he set foot in the woods outside the Fairyland. I have often felt its presence the past few years but never has it so brazenly tried to enter." Her face darkened, but the air cooled as she retracted her power.

"Does it know him?"

She glanced at Feliciano and he took that as a, "Probably."

"Can you stop it?"

"I can keep it out of here, but I'm more curious why. It is so persistent. It takes a great risk coming here. I sense," She paused, frowning, "A familiarity."

He tilted his head, "Who?"

"I cannot be sure," She replied, "But it keeps trying to reach Alfred and it reminds me of her."

He gulped hard, shock filling him. "Her? She's haunting him? But that would mean...," He trailed off, the thought too terrible to ponder.

"I always assumed after seeing Alfred in that condition that great tragedy had befallen her, but that she would go so far. That she would do that," She said, shaking her head.

"Please. Not her. Not that," Felciano said, clutching his white flags harder. A nervous habit. "Should we tell Alfred?"

"Of what? First, he wouldn't remember and second... second I'm not sure. It's only a suspicion."

"I wish there was a way to break it. The spell," He clarified at her confused expression. "Like he did before, I mean."

She frowned and said, "But he never broke the spell before."

"But then... how... I mean. I'm so confused," He said, his brow fully furrowed in concentration. My siesta.

"The spell wore off when he left this place, but it never went fully went away," She clarified. "The moment he set foot here again, it was already coming back. The apples only accelerated what was already occurring."

He tilted his head in confusion, remarking, "But what's that have to do with him not remembering here?"

"Everything," She answered, "Because he stopped eating the food of here, but never broke the spell, it instead took all his memories of this place."

"So he just woke up a blank slate out there?" When Summer nodded, saying, "Probably," He continued rapid-fire, "But that must have been so scary. Why did he leave at all? Better yet, how could he leave at all? Doesn't the fruit prevent that? Why does the fruit of the Fae do that to humans? I've never understood."

"One question at a time, please," She said, holding up a palm. "In regards to your last, I don't know why it does that. That is General Autum's domain, but I do know, as well as you do, that it was never intended for human consumption. It only meant as a gift to allow the Fae to dream like humans."

Feliciano had heard that answer before, but always he hoped for a better one. That one never satisfied his curiosity, but Lady Summer has she just reminded him was not the one to ask about it. Eternals were never very knowledgeable about anything outside their area. Lady Summer used to be the most curious among them, but not anymore. She had changed. After what happened, who wouldn't? He shook the thought away, not wanting to remember those terrible times when it all went wrong.

"What if we keep him from eating it? Would it wear off again?"

"Deny him here? He'd go mad wanting to eat it. That would be too cruel. Remember what happened when you tried to deny Arthur the fruit?" Feliciano shivered at that memory.

"Well, what if we throw him back into that world. It wore off before."

"It would be worse this time. Because he would again awaken a blank slate, but now full-grown with absolutely no idea of how he got there."

"Wait, he wouldn't get back all his other memories? The ones he had before returning?"

"Unlikely," She replied, "Once taken, they stay taken by the spell. If we threw him out, he would wake up confused and with no idea of where he was or who he was. All of his memories locked away. All of them."

Feliciano gulped hard and let that sink in. "Nothing? Nothing will come back now?"

"Not until he breaks the spell," She explained. "Until then he must remain here. At least here he is safe and has some of his memories."

"Poor Alfred," He said, his lip trembling a little. It's so sad. "He's fighting it so hard. Maybe, he'll break it sooner than the others."

"In my eons of experiences, no human or part-fairy as human as Alfred has ever broken that spell in less than a century. And by then, they could not leave the forest without aging rapidly."

"But it's not fair."

"No, it's not," She agreed.

"I still don't get one thing though. If he never broke the spell, how did he leave at all?"

"That's what I want to know," She said, scanning their surroundings with a suspicious glare, "I am sure of one thing though. He had help."

"That spirit?"

"Perhaps."

"Does Alfred remember leaving?"

"Very little. Something about a figure in white leading him away."

"White?" Feliciano repeated and paled, his voice shrinking to a whisper. He licked his lips, trying to wet them, "But it can't be! She wouldn't do that! Why would she do that? Why would she lure her son away into such danger? Ghost or not, she wouldn't!"

"Not even Winter understood how the dead think in that state," Summer replied, continuing, "And if it is her, then I'm sure she had her reason."

"Like what?"

"The brother."

"The who?" She gave him a flat look and then Felician's eyes widened as he remembered. I can't remember his original name for the life of me. Arthur probably renamed him too. "Oh yeah, wait is he alive? You know given his condition."

"From stuff Arthur said and from some things I've noticed about Alfred, I would say yes. For now, but if Alfred stays here long-term or had stayed all those years ago, I think we can both surmise what would have or will happen to the other one."

"Then he can't stay."

"But he can't leave."

"This is terrible!" Feliciano said, clutching at his temples. "We have to do something!" After siesta, he almost added though he was riled up to almost forgo on it. Almost.

"At this point, I too am at a lost for what to do. We can only watch and pray for a miracle."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Alfred was having a nightmare. He knew it, but he could not wake or stop it. Figures stood at a distance in a fog, one that occasionally retreated enough for him to see one of them. Always their faces seemed to look at him with hurt and longing, their eyes felt accusing as if asking, Why? Why did you forget us?

I don't know! He tried to scream, but he had not voice.

They cannot communicate with the dead by spoken word. That dead-pan voice was familiar, but the owner drifted away like the memory.

A girl with pigtails tied by blue ribbons appeared out of the fog and then receded back into it. Another face, a shy boy, with violet-eyes that kept looking away, refusing to meet his also came forward and then melted back into the mist. On and on, it went until one came, a tall man with lonely eyes that almost glowed purple, stepped forward.

"Sunflower" He whispered, reaching a hand to Alfred. Alfred found himself reaching back, but something was pulling them apart. An invisible barrier that dragged them back out of Alfred's vision and held Alfred away from them.

He heard them laughing, whispering in the fog, but he could only make out a word every now and then. Sometime an eerie giggle would bubble out, but they could not hear him and he could not remember them.

He fell to his knees, clutching at his face, wanting to cry. "Why? Why can't I?" He yelled voicelessly.

"Because you are under a spell, stupid," Came a high-pitched voice like the the whine of an insect or the screech of metal rubbing against metal. It almost hurt to hear but wasn't all that unpleasant. It also was somehow monotonous, yet somehow not. Like an alien speaker who knew the grammar of English perfectly, but didn't understand the intonations of it.

He looked around the endless white he was trapped in and then toward the fog. "Hello?" He said timidly and though he heard nothing in his ears, the voice responded.

"Yeah?" It said again almost like it was coming from all around him. Or inside my head. He shivered at the thought.

"Who are you?"

"Who am I? Who am I?" It repeated, sounding annoyed, "I'm the fuckin' boogyman. Who the fuck do you think I am?"

"God?"

"That wasn't a question. Enough of this. Listen, up it's time we meet."

"Artie, says I'm not supposed to meet with strangers."

"What are you eight?"

"Yes."

"Oh, for fuck's sake. That fuckin' limey! Get the fuck up! We're meeting now."

"But-."

Alfred jolted awake, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the surroundings of his bedroom. Did I just get cussed out in my dream? What was with all the adult words, wait - I'm an adult! I can use those words too! What's a limey?

His eyes fixed on the chair in the right corner of his room, or on his jacket that was carelessly tossed over the chair. Something was calling him, drawing him, and he slowly he slid out of bed, walking toward it. The window above it was nothing but a circle that showed outside. Right now the full moon had just risen and was pouring light into his room, just touching the top of the jacket, casting it in a velvety blue.

Alfred held his breath, crouching down, he reached into the left pocket, finding something wooden, he pulled out a circular object with a net in its middle. A dreamcatcher. The word just came to him and he knew that's what this was.

He held it up it up into the moonlight, only meaning to get a better look, but the moment the light touched it, the device became to hum and glow with a silvery light. The name TONY lit up in purple at the top and Alfred collapsed to the floor with a thump.

By all appearances, he looked asleep, curled around the dreamcatcher, but in truth, Alfred was now very far away.

(End of Chapter 23. Alfred finds himself in a strange world, faced by an even stranger being. Stayed tuned for Chapter 24: The Alien)


	22. The Alien

Chapter 24: The Alien

Groaning, Alfred sat up and wiped a trail of drool from his chin. After standing up and slipping on his jacket, he shuffled to the door. He wanted to sleep in Arthur's room tonight. When he opened the door, waves of frigid air rolled into his room and his eyes bulged at what he saw.

He shut the door. Opened it. Shut it. Opened it.

"Wow," he gaped, rubbing at his eyes as they soaked in the view. The largest stone corridor he had seen in his life lay beyond, its gigantic flagstone floor and walls glittered like ice and stardust.

Stepping out into it, he stared up at the ceiling that had to be at least ten thousand feet up or more. The opposite wall was hundreds of feet away and the hallway seemed to stretch to infinity in either direction. Lining the upper reaches of the other wall were arched windows that each revealed a share of the night sky and the stars peppering it. The ones to the right showed some of the full moon.

"Leapin' lizards this is awesome!" He laughed, grinning from ear to ear. This definitely wasn't the Fairyland. Each flagstone could fit his room three times over. This has to be a dream! "Up, up, and away!" He said, hopping on one foot, but he didn't take off in the air. He frowned. Maybe it's not a dream? How do you fly in a dream?

He jumped in shock when a circle of blue light appeared beneath him. Trying to get off it, he found it kept him in the center of it no matter where he went. He bolted for his door, but it snapped shut and he collided into it with a whump. The circled turned red underneath him and stayed red if he went any direction but toward the other wall.

"I'm trapped?" He said unable to get his door to budge or break as if it were made of stone. Deciding to see where he was being lead, he crossed the hall. The only sound was the swish-swish-swish of his slippered footsteps. As he grew closer, he realized there was door ahead, half the height of his own.

When he knocked on the door, the light winked out beneath him. He frowned and knocked again. Nothing. Finally, he opened it a crack, peeking inside, he called, "Hello?"

Sounds were coming from inside. A smacking sound followed by a "Hi-yah, hi-yah!"

The right side of the room was dominated by a metal console filled with switches, knobs, and all sort of buttons that were just aching to be pressed. No, not now! He restrained himself throwing the sparkly panel one final glance. God, he loved pressing buttons.

A black leather chair dominated the center of the room. It was like nothing Alfred had seen before. It sat on a swivel and moved with wheels on the bottom. Someone was in it, cursing up at storm.

"Fuckin' hell! GODDAMIT! PIECE OF FUCKIN' SHIT JOHNNY FUCKIN CAGE!" Alfred flinched, blushing at all the filthy cuss words spewing from whoever was in that chair. It was that same high-pitched voice from earlier. "GODDAMMIT! HIT YOU BITCH!"

Alfred gaped. He could see the edges of someone kind of square glass in front of the chair with lights flickering on it and it was emitting punching noises. What is that?

"FUCK YOUUUUU!" The voice yelled. "Aw, fuck," Its owner said, throwing some kind of blue device on the floor. The item had buttons on the right and a toggle on the left. Alfred's breath caught and his blood froze. A hand came into view, tapping its middle finger on the arm rest. The hand had only three digits and a thumb. The skin was grey and the wrist tiny, no bigger than Alfred's big toe. A monster? "Dead again. Stupid fuckin' game. I shouldn't have used fuckin' Johnny Cage."

Who was Johnny Cage? Alfred decided he wasn't waiting to find out. He turned to run when the voice called, "Going so soon, Alfred F. Jones?"

He yelped when he was brutally yanked inside by an invisible force. In a blink, he was in a blue version of the chair, unable to get out, and the door was shut. The other chair turned slowly, bringing him face to face with the strangest creature Alfred had ever seen. It had large, black eyes like a squid, ones that blinked vertically. In place of a nose, were slits. The creature looked like a malnourished child and Alfred wondered how its frail-looking neck could support such a big head.

"Dude, your head is huuuuge," Alfred blurted out.

"Fuckin' charmin' as always, Alfred," The creature snickered.

"My name's Alfred. There's no Jones."

"Like fuck there isn't," The creature countered and then he pointed at Alfred, "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Sitting?" Alfred replied, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no, I mean what the fuck are you doing with that fuckin' limey? You've got a destiny and shit to fulfill."

"I do?"

"Yeah, you're Alfred Fuckin' Jones!"

"Uh-huh," He said, deciding to just go along with this. "And who are you?"

The thing smirked and straightened up, it introduced itself with a flourish of its hand, "I," It began, "Am Tony. Master of the Goddamn Dreamscape and don't you forget it. It's a pleasure to fuckin' meet you."

"Nice to meet you too?" Man, does this guy cuss. "Is this a dream?"

"Just now figured it out? Fuckin' genius!"

"Thanks!" Alfred agreed, oblivious to why Tony shook his head and slapped a palm against his bulbous head.

Tony's slitted eyes narrowed and drummed his fingers along the left arm chair before he said, "Alfred, I'm not happy."

"I'm sorry to hear that?" This guy is weird.

"Do you know why?"

Alfred shook his head.

"Then let me share. I am a jealous being," He explained. "Is that wrong?" Alfred opened his mouth, but Tony rolled over him, "Good! Glad we agreed." He steepled his fingers together and in leaned forward in a brooding manner, "You see I get let's say real fuckin' pissed when fuckin' eternals with no goddam business in my domain start playing around in it and sending their vassals to do whatever the fuck they want. That really pisses me off. Understand?"

"Uh..."

"Glad you do. Now tell me Alfred, what do you know of fuckin' fairies?"

"Uh...," Alfred said, thinking of Feliciano. "They have cowlicks?"

"Good, go on."

"They float?"

"Lots of magic beings do that," Tony said, "I mean something fairy-specific."

"They live long lives?"

"How about we talk about what they can't do. A gift only humans possess."

"Me?" He said, beaming at Tony.

"Cute, but wrong," Tony said. "I'll just say it. Fairies - I mean fuckin' fairies - have no Third Eye."

"No what?" Alfred said, trying to visualize that.

"Third Eyes. All humans have ones, some are just stronger than others. For example, you have an exceptionally powerful one." Alfred crossed his eyes trying to see his. "Stop that! You can't fuckin' see it! It's not physically there!"

"But then how do you know I have one?"

"Did you not hear? I'm the Master of the Fuckin' Dreamscape! Theses eyes don't see the fuckin' lame shit you see."

There was a long pause and Alfred studied the room, feeling very awkward. There was a rectangular black screen to Tony's left. It had that blue device on the floor in front of it. What's that for? Tony kept staring at him expectantly and finally he said, "What?"

"Aren't you curious what Third Eyes are for?" Tony said.

"Okay, what're they for?"

"They give humans they power to enter this place and have foresight."

"Foresight?"

"Perception of the future," Tony explained, "Tell me Alfred, have you never noticed that no matter how hair-brained your idea, it almost always works out in your favor?"

Alfred thought about that and answered, "What do you mean? My ideas are great that's why they work great!"

"You think it's dumb luck?" Tony countered. "You think you just happened to come across the one person who could get you into the Fairyland? You think you just happened to arrive just when the Canadian Lord needed a double?"

"I don't know wha-." None of that happened to me, What is he talking about?

"A lot of amazing coincidences just happen to you, don't they? Did you never wonder why? Why you were so lucky? It wasn't blind luck that brought you to Emil and Matthew."

"Who?"

Tony sighed and continued, "A part of you knew the combination of choices that would you lead you there. Call it gut instincts if you will, but Alfred you have a power Third Eye. One that sees possibilities. And it is that Third Eye that made you so exceptionally vulnerable to the Fruit of the Fae."

I have no idea what he's talking about. "What about the fruit?"

"Just listen. The fae can eat that shitty fruit and be fuckin' fine because they don't have fuckin' Third Eyes, but when a human or a part-fairy with a Third Eye eats it, the shit hits the fan. It's bad. It corrupts the subconscious, you see, which just so happens to be my domain." Tony smiled.

"Which means?" Alfred said and suddenly he was yanked forward. He floated, suspended in the air, right in front of Tony, unable to move. "What are y-."

"It means," Tony interrupted, "I can cure you. Autumn's magic is good, but mine is superior. Ain't that fuckin' lucky?"

"But I don't understand."

"Those people in your dreams. The ones in the fog. I can give them back to you. All of them."

Alfred swallowed hard, his mouth going dry. "You can?"

"But, in return you must do something for me?"

"Which is?"

"Tell no one of this. Not your father, not your brother, no one."

"Is it bad or something?" Did he mean Artie?

"I'm breaking a big rule," Tony replied, "But with so much at stake, to hell with it."

"I won't tell," Alfred said, his heart fluttering at the thought of knowing who those faces were.

"You swear?"

"Yeah."

"Pinky promise?"

"Uh...?"

"Good enough!" Tony chirped, "Now close your eyes. This is gonna hurt."

"How bad?"

"Not as bad as the fuckin' limey's cooking, but you might scream," Tony said, cracking his knuckles, he started stretching as he stood up in the chair.

"Really?" Alfred squeaked nervously.

"Yup, now close your eyes. I've got a spell to break and whatever you do, don't open them. 'Kay?"

Alfred nodded, squeezing them shut, he braced himself.

"Okay, here goes," Tony said and Alfred heard the chair shift as the alien stepped forward and tapped a finger right between his eyes. He waited and waited. "Okay, you can open them."

"Huh?" Alfred said, blinking. He was back in the chair. "That's it? I thought you said...," He trailed off as Tony snickered. "You liar!"

"Now, now, I'm pretty pooped," Tony chuckled, clasping his fingers behind his head, "It's rough being a God of Dreams. All these awesome powers and no one gullible to use them on."

"So did you really...?"

"Yeah, you're cured. It's just that simple."

"But you just tapped between my eyes."

"Yup."

"But wasn't it some bad spell?"

"It was."

"But that's it?"

"Yup. I rock," Tony said with smile. He winked at Alfred, "But remember. Hush-hush. This didn't happen."

"That's really it?"

"What did you expect some explosions and shit?"

"Well..."

"Fuckin' mortals!"

"But I don't even feel different."

"Yeah, coz you gotta find your trigger."

"My what?"

"The thingie that when you see it starts makin' the memory thingies come back."

"Which is?"

"No fun if I tell you."

"But-."

"No buts. It'll make sense later."

"So," Alfred said, looking around, "What's next?"

Tony's brow furrowed and he tiled his head, remarking, "Shit! You're right. We still got time. Um... any questions?"

Tons, but now he couldn't seem to think of one. "Um... what's that square thing?"

"That?" Tony said, looking to his right. "That's a TV."

"A TV?"

"Highly advanced alien technology," Tony explained, "Top secret."

"Really? What do you use it for?"

"Lots of things. Actually... do you like video games?"

"What are those?"

Tony smirked.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Tony was officially the most awesome being that ever existed. Alfred loved this alien technology, especially this game Tony had called: Mortal Kombat.

"FINISH HIM!" The game chimed as Alfred once again defeated Tony's character.

"Fuckin' hell! I hate fuckin' button mashers like you!" Tony griped as Alfred grinned triumphantly, marching his player over to tear the head off Tony's character. Alfred had at first been horrified until Tony explained that these weren't real beings. They weren't alive.

Before Alfred could do the finishing move though, the TV cut off and the controller vanished from his hands. "Hey!" He protested.

"Time's up," Tony answered, "The moon is setting."

"What's the moon have to do with anything?"

"Everything. Never come here outside a full moon," He said flatly, "ever."

"Why not?"

"Because you can be killed then," Tony answered, "Now you must go. Until the spell breaks you will not remember much of what we discussed. But it has already begun. Bit by bit, things will return. Welcome back, Alfred F. Jones. I'll be seeing you again."

Alfred opened his mouth to shout, but he was falling - no being dragged back - into somewhere far away.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Alfred F. Jones opened his eyes. "Alfred F. Jones," He whispered. That's my name.

End of Chapter 24. I hope you enjoyed that. Next up... Chapter 25: Breaking Spell.


	23. Breaking Spell

Chapter 25

Breaking Spell

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Something is wrong.

Pa couldn't put a name to it, but the forest was wrong. It was quiet. Wind never blew through the trees and there was something else. Something he had only recently become aware of. No scent. Things didn't have an odor.

It had taken Pa Jones days, maybe weeks, to pick up a trail in the woods one that finally led him to the ruins of a camp of Russian soldiers. That was where things had gone cold. All the paths led to where the soldiers eventually died, gored by a boar or worse. The forest had not taken kindly to their intrusion.

It was only when he expanded his search to around the camp that he found signs that one soldier had never been in the camp when it was attacked. He had followed that, hoping it would lead him somewhere. It had led him here.

A part of the forest that seemed to shift. It wasn't noticeable to the untrained-eye, but wherever he was, the forest moved around. He was in a maze disguised as a forest. One that wouldn't let him out and kept leading him in circles.

You knew this forest was dangerous.

After the first couple days, he started to fear that he would die in here. There was food, but it was scant and his supplies were running low. Oh Alfred.

On the fifth day though, he found something. A boy crouched over a stream, splashing water on his face, completely occupied. Pa Jones crept silently forward toward the boy's back, noting that the boy - a Russian Soldier by his armor - had left his spear several feet away. Is he really a soldier?

The blond soldier was rather short. Pa, however, would take no chances. He slipped his knife out and raised it. The boy never noticed Pa until it was too late.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Poppet! I brought tea~! Oh, not again!" Arthur huffed, setting the wooden tray of scones and tea on a nearby nightstand. "You promised, poppet! You promised!" He chided, setting his fists on his sides and tapping a foot. Alfred took no notice and continued writing with a bit of charcoal on one of the last remaining spaces of blank wall in his room.

Alfred had written one message again and again:

I AM ALFRED F. JONES! DU NAWT FORGIT!

Dreadful spelling.

"Poppet, what have you done?" Arthur snapped, stamping a foot. He hated being ignored. The boy finally took notice and looked sheepishly over his shoulder. His face and cotton-shirt were covered in black smudges, but it was the look in his eyes that really worried Arthur. They were wide and fervent. "Are you all right, lad?"

"Arthur," The boy said as if unsure. He frowned. "No, that's not right. There's more." He shook his head and went back to writing.

"Alfred, please stop," Arthur urged, hurrying over he grabbed Alfred's arm trying to pull him away from the wall. Alfred shrugged him off and Arthur tried to get the charcoal away, "Alfred stop this at once!"

"Let go!" Alfred yelled, trying to shake him off. "I'm not fi-." He shoved Arthur - too hard - and Arthur went flying across the room into the opposing wall. "Arthur!" He yelled, rushing over and dropping to his knees. "I'm sorry!"

"It's okay, lad," Arthur said, pushing him away, as he stood up and dusted himself off. "I know you didn't meant it."

"Sorry, I just... I just...," Alfred trailed off, staring around the room, he clutched at his temples, smearing more blackness over his face. "I feel like my head is going to explode. I'm so close to remembering."

"Remembering what?"

"Everything," Alfred said, staring in awe around the room as if amazed by his own handiwork. It's just some stick figures and chicken scratch, nothing to get dazzled by.

"What is this Alfred F Jones business?" Arthur grumped.

"It's me," Alfred answered, placing a hand over his heart, he locked eyes with Arthur, "I am Alfred F. Jones."

Arthur kept his face impassive, but internally rolled his eyes. Right. "And you base this off what?"

"I don't know, but I know."

"Uh-huh," Arthur said, "And what does the F stand for?"

"I don't know," Alfred said, his brow furrowing, "But it belongs in my name."

"Tell me this is not because of another of your dreams," Arthur muttered and, upon seeing Alfred's guiltily expression, he sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. "You're barkin' mad. What did the burgers tried to gobble you again?" He had comforted the boy after more than one of the boy's bad dreams.

"No," Alfred gasped and then pointed at Arthur, yelping, "Why did you remind me of that!"

"Poppet, I'm going to insist that you remove this. It's not healthy. I think it's triggering these o... Poppet?" He dropped off, watching as Alfred's face lit up.

"That's it!" Alfred cried, grinning ear to ear as he grabbed Arthur's shoulders. "I remembered something. The weird gray dude that I'm not supposed to talk ab... I mean I've got to find the trigger!"

"Er...let's get Feliciano. Now," Arthur suggested, but Alfred was already throwing himself on the floor and tossing old toys, things from his numerous collections, and stuff out from under the bed. Then attacked his shelves and chest of drawers, searching for something. Arthur could only stand there helpless as the git made a disaster of his room. Then just as Alfred looked about to bound across his room, he froze stock still, staring at the shelf above his bed. "Alfred?"

Arthur followed Alfred's gaze to a wooden, red-coat soldier he had given the boy long ago as a present. "What is it, lad?" Arthur said, waving a hand in front of Alfred's face, but Alfred caught his wrist gently and set it to Arthur's side. "Alfred?"

"Twelve," Alfred whispered, peeling his eyes from the soldier to Arthur, "That soldier was in a set of twelve."

"Erm... okay. If you say so...Alfred?" Alfred grabbed the sides of his head, falling to the floor, he shrieked so loudly that Arthur jumped back at first, before falling beside the boy. "Poppet, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" Drops of water landed on the smooth wooden floor as Alfred remained huddled over it, his face almost touching it. "Are you crying?"

A sob wracked Alfred's body and Arthur patted his back, trying to figure out how to pull the boy into a hug. He's too big. Another reason Arthur disliked their size differences.  
>"I... I..." Alfred wheezed, his body shuddering with some grief as he rocked back and forth on his knees. "I..."<p>

"Alfie, Alfie, don't cry," Arthur said, half-draping him over Alfred in an attempt to hug and comfort him. Skin-ship was never his strong suit. "Shh... it'll be okay. Let's go back."

"I can never go back," Alfred said, suddenly, lifting his tear-stained face. Arthur flinched at the venom in those eyes. It wasn't hate per say, but some terrible realization growing in them. Alfred was angry. The most furious Arthur had ever seen, but against who or why he couldn't tell.

"If this about me tre-."

"It has nothing to do with that now," Alfred said, wiping the tears off his face. "That doesn't matter now. I...," He grabbed his face and screamed again. He collapsed on the floor and curled into a ball.

"Feliciano!" Arthur cried, knowing there was no way the fairy would hear him. He likely wasn't in the Great Tree right now, but he hoped someone would hear. "Someone!" He cried, but Alfred stilled and laid there panting. His face was pale and drawn. His eyes glazed and then returned, but when he sat up, it wasn't Alfred. It wasn't Arthur's Alfred. This was someone else. Someone who had grown-up within those seconds and the boy, the sweet boy, that Arthur had loved was truly gone.

"Eleven," Alfred said. "I saw it's eleven brothers in Toronto. They are with Martin."

"Who?"

"My brother! The Prince of Canada!" Alfred answered, "He lives in the capitol, Toronto. And..." Joy infused his features, his face splitting in a grin as suddenly a realization filled him from head to toe and he clapped and danced. "I remember! Oh my God, I remember!"

"Alfred!" Arthur said, feeling like that's all he'd been saying all morning, but Alfred spun Arthur around in a small dance before running to the thirteen stick figures on the wall and touching each of them, saying, "Pa, Delly, Ma, Connie..." He listed them and then touched the almost invisible figure nearby, "And Margaret! How could I forget my own brother Margaret. The Prince of Canada."

"Wait," Arthur said, scratching as his temple, "Isn't that a girl's name and didn't you just say it was Martin?"

"I think I'd know my own brother's name," Alfred said, rolling his eyes and then his expression fell as he looked at the stick figure with the scarf - the really creepy one. "We have much to do. So much to answer."

"Alfred, let's see Lady Summer," Arthur pleaded, "You're not well."

"I have never been better," Alfred replied, looking at Arthur with a bemusing expression. "You're the one not well."

"What nonsense!" Arthur scoffed, "I'm not the one dancing and spinning around the room."  
>"Exactly!" Alfred said, pointing at Arthur, "And why is that?"<p>

"Why is what?" Arthur huffed. Git's lost it.

"How could you forget? How could you forget everyone? Even Martha?" Who? Wait, is that brother, but didn't he just call him - oh bollocks.

"We are heading straight to Summer and straightening this out," Arthur insisted.

"Yeah, let's do that. Let's see why the King of England, can't remember his own kingdom."

England. Arthur felt like he'd been slapped. That word. It was like a knife to the gut. It hurt to hear and he stared at Alfred in wordless horror. Alfred seemed to noticed and stepped forward, but Arthur stepped away.

"Artie, it's okay. Don't be scared."

"Just bugger off!" Arthur snapped and and bolted from the room, slamming the door behind him. Now who's being childish. He knew what he was running for. I need the fruit. I need it now!

That name and Alfred's behavior had set something off in him. Something he didn't want to face.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Alfred?" Lady Summer said demurely while Feliciano outright guffawed at Alfred stormed into Summer's room where Emil was floating.

"I'm sorry," He said sarcastically, his voice contained a bitter edge. "Am I interrupting?" He was angry. Angrier than he had ever been his life and he didn't entirely understand why. Maybe it was because he had forgotten. Alfred F. Jones was a hero who didn't forget his loved ones, but he had forgotten and these two seemed to blame. "Plotting how to mind-wipe Emil too?"

Heros don't beat around the bush!

"Emil?" Feliciano said, his eyebrows going up. He looked at Lady Summer and back at Arthur and then behind him at Emil. "You mean him?"

"What's the matter? Having memory troubles?" Alfred mused, "Or was that just me and Arthur?"

"You remember," Feliciano gasped. Both he and Summer had equally stunned expressions, though hers was far more reserved and subdued - nothing more than slightly widened eyes and tightened lips.

"How?" Lady Summer whispered.

"Surprised?" He grounded out, the frown never completely leaving his face. He felt like a volcano on the point of exploding. I forgot them. Even when Ivan had taken his virginity, he had not felt shame or humiliated afterwards. He knew he should have, but somehow despite everything, sex with Ivan had always felt right. Yet this, this... I feel violated. His soul had been raped. Something that belonged to him had been taken. His hands curled into fists and he shook with a rage so deep he thought he might choke on it. "You..." Was all he could say. "You're both sick fuckers!" He screamed, "How could you? How could you take them from me?"

"Calm yourself," Lady Summer urged, stepping forward as Feliciano inched back, two white flags in both hands. "This anger is not like you."

"Don't act like you fucking know me!" He yelled, slamming a fist into the side of the doorway so hard, he knocked a hole in its side. His fist stung lightly, but he ignored it, glaring at her. Lady Summer looked unamused. "You," He accused, moving his eyes from Feliciano to Summer, "You both fucking did this! You violated me!"

"We did nothing of the sort," Lady Summer said. Alfred moved to charge, but she stopped him with a flick of her palm and suddenly he was pinned to the wall.

"Let me go!" He screamed, fighting.

"No," She said. "I don't know what has brought your memories back, but it's clearly overwhelming your mind. We have never wanted anything but for you to remember."

He snorted with laughter, growling, "I bet you did!"

"We did and if you would li-."

"I'm done listening to you!"

"Then what did you come here for?" She demanded.

"To get Emil and then Arthur and get the fuck out of here!" He cried.

"That would be beyond stupid," She warned, that aura of power growing around her. The air crackled about her and it grew warm, almost hot.

"Why? Can't stand for your prisoners to leave?"

"There's only one prisoner in this place," She rebuked, "And that is me."

Something in that tone and those words caught him like a slap to the face and he blinked. "Pardon?" What did she mean?

"You heard me. This place is my prison and if you will calm down. I will explain," She replied. Alfred kept his eyes fixed on hers. Against her gaze, he felt like a bug, but he was a hero and he refused to lose. Finally, he nodded and she released him, none to gently, and he landed hard.

"If you're Lady Summer," Alfred said, standing up, "Then why are you locked up here doing nothing while Ivan runs crazy with Winter."

"Because I can't," She said, her tone frustrated.

"So you just stay here and collect people like Arthur?"

She threw her head back and chuckled, a soft tinkling sound like a bell chiming, "Collect people? Collect? You think we did that to Arthur? How little you know," She said, approaching Alfred, her skin starting to glow with an effervescent fire. "Arthur Kirland chose to eat the fruit."

"Artie would never!"

"You never knew him," She countered, "When Arthur brought you here, you were at death's door. I just barely saved you by sharing my essence - a piece of my life-giving power. It not only brought you back, it has given you great healing and long-life. Arthur was to leave the next morning, but by then it was too late. Feliciano fell asleep at his po-."

"Napped," Feliciano corrected, but shut his mouth at Summer's withering look.

"When he found Arthur and you, there were eaten apple cores everywhere. Arthur didn't just eat the fruit himself, he fed them to you as well," She explained.

"He probably didn't know anymore than me!" Alfred defended.

"Arthur knew. He knew more than he should have about this place," She answered, "And he used that knowledge to the fullest. He chose to forget his sin."

"What sin? Bringing a dying boy to get healing?"

"Oh no," She said, shaking her head, "How little you understand him. He didn't bring you here to save your life. He had other goals." Alfred frowned. Lies. "But there was something even he didn't anticipate. He didn't realize that by breaking the seal here, he would so too break Winter's seal."

Alfred's felt his heart dropped; it was as if he were floating on air. His lips went dry and he whispered, "What do you mean?"

"Dare you know of your big brother's most unspeakable crime?" She asked, her face stony and cold.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Gilbert woke to Gilbird's screeching and flying frantically about the room. Despite the cold draft, he had left his window doors slightly ajar just so the bird could enter. "What is it buddy?" Then it hit him, he'd set the bird to spying on the Prince, in case the Prince did anything dangerous. "What's wrong?"

Grabbing his sword and his gear, he was running down the hall, following his bird and praying it wasn't too late.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I'm hungry.

That little voice in Matthew's head whined again. It had been gnawing at his mind for some days now. No matter how much Matthew ate it never went away. Something in him was starving. He - no it - cut at him, injured him, to feed itself. It was desperate and now they could take no more.

Matthew believed he was in a dream. Doubts of it were pushed away. It has to be, he assured himself. How else could he have slipped past the guards by his door without being seen? Then he remembered that he had always had that talent for disappearing from people's vision when he really wanted to. Like water slithering beneath a door frame, he had passed by, unnoticed and unseen.

Feed us, that strange part of him that was him, but not entirely, urged. So hungry.

He was now in the West Wing, mounting the tower steps. With each one, his legs felt heavier and heavier like he were gaining weight until the granite steps cracked as he climbed. It hardly perturbed him, though he knew it should have, that each of his footfalls began to spawn two sounds - his own and another more befitting the clack of a cloven hoof connecting with stone. His own raspy breathing came to sound like the grunting of a very large animal.

Moonlight from one of the tower's windows fell over him, casting his already pallid features in a ghostly luminance. He never saw the shadow it threw on the wall. The distorted outline that did not match his form. No, what loomed on the wall could only have belonged to something far larger, perhaps ten feet tall. A shape with two curled horns on its head and a large, protruding forehead.

As he neared the top of the tower, the stone split in two beneath his steps, but still Matthew did not awake from his trance. Whatever was inside him was starving and it would wait no longer.

(End of Chapter 25. Next up... Chapter 26: Arthur's Sin.)


	24. Arthur

Chapter 26  
>Arthur's Sin (Part Two)<br>::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Gilbert stepped over the ruined door, his sword drawn, calling, "Majesty?"

Matthew stood in what remained of the center window of three. Stones blocks, broken and smashed, lay all about the Prince's feet as if the window's sill had been torn out around him. Now there was nothing but an open doorway that led to the courtyard far below. Icy winds tossed and pressed Matthew's white night robe against his body, even in this light Gilbert could see the large Maple Leaf sewn on the back. The moonlight made the skin on Matthew's arms and bare feet almost glow with a pallid light. He's out in this cold with only his night robe?

Matthew rocked and swayed as if he would leap. "Majesty don't!" Gilbert cried, stepping forward. Something was very alarming about that posture and the strange grunts that would come from his lord.

Matthew's fingers sunk into the stone sides of the broken window and he turned slowly to Gilbert. Those eyes. Matthew's eyes glinted gold and his face was a mask of shadow, ones that should have been chased back by the starlight. When the boy spoke it was low and guttural as if a beast were speaking, "My...son..."

"Son?" Gilbert replied, confused. Matthew doesn't have any sons. In fact, isn't he a virgin?

Matthew crushed the rock into fragments and lowered his head as if to charge like a bull. He leaned back and Gilbert gasped, taking another step forward, holding out his hand. "Hun...gry..." It mumbled, speaking as if it was difficult and unused to the language.

"You're hungry?" Gilbert said, giving a cautious grin, "Come away from there my Lord. I'll make you hamburgers."

"S...on...hun...gry." Suddenly, Matthew screamed and clutched his head, he stepped back and looked about to throw himself out. Without thinking, Gilbert sprung forward, dropping his sword as he cried, "NO!" and grappled his Lord's waist, pulling him inside.

Matthew went rigid in his arms and Gilbert's eyes climbed upward to see those yellow eyes again, glaring down at him. He leapt away for his sword, but whatever this was, was faster. It seized him by the throat and lifted him up like a rag doll, turning his face from side to side as if studying him.

Good God, he's stronger than Alfred and that boy has his own inhuman strength! Though not as awesome as me. "Ma...ma...t," Gilbert tried to squeeze out as Matthew partially choked him. He beat at the boy's arm, attempting to wrench free.

"My...son...gone," It said almost mournfully and then it quivered as if filled with some terrible rage. Gilbert realized in two seconds it would snap his neck. Forgive me Matthew, he thought and did the only thing he could. He swung his booted foot straight into Matthew's crotch, connecting hard.

The boy's eyes bulged, the gold instantly gone, as he dropped Gilbert and fell over, clutching his balls. Gilbert's foot throbbed. Does he have iron nuts or something? Oh shit, you just kicked his Majesty.

"Majesty?" He said, grabbing his sword as he knelt down.

"Gil...bert?" Matthew, the real Matthew wheezed, looking up, tears glistened in his eyes. He sounded desperately confused. He shivered and his teeth chattered as if the bitter cold was only now hitting him. "W-w-what hap-p-pened? W-w-where am I and w-why do I hurt?"

"You're safe now," Gilbert said, sheathing his sword, he crouched over Matthew, half-hugging him to warm him. He'll need a warm bath. He could have frostbite.

"I-I-I'm s-s-sorry," Matthew breathed as he clutched at Gilbert and sobbed into his shoulder. "I'm s-s-so s-s-sorry. W-w-what d-d-did I do?"

Does he not remember? Gilbert wondered. "Nothing you couldn't help," Gilbert answered, patting his friend's back as he lifted the boy up, hooking his arm under his Prince's knees and putting the other under his back. He's so light for one who ripped granite apart like nothing. It was terrifying to think about and he forced himself to focus on now. Right now Matthew needed help. He heard footsteps from the stairs. "Your awesome men are arriving."

"P-p-please d-d-don't l-let th-them s-s-see me like this-s," Matthew whispered, burying his face in Gilbert's chest. "S-s-something's wrong with-th me. I'm s-s-so scared." In that moment, the boy felt so delicate like porcelain that would shatter if Gilbert dropped him.

"Nothing's wrong with you," Gilbert assured him, holding him close. He was out in this cold too long. "And don't worry about the guards. I'll make them walk with their eyes shut the whole way if I have to."

Matthew nodded and Gilbert carried him back in his arms. He had the guards scramble to prepare a hot bath and Matthew's room, but above all, he made certain that no one saw Matthew's tear-stained face.

My word is my bond.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Allow me to explain," Feliciano said, stepping forward from the back. "Y-you know I won't lie." Alfred didn't nod in agreement, but he did signal for him to continue. "The day Arthur came here brought a storm like no other..."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Nineteen Years Ago

Something is coming. Feliciano could sense it. Never did it rain or cloud over in the Fairyland. Always it was perfect weather, but now the sky was a churning sea of black clouds. They boiled and bubbled out like a stew in a cauldron. Fierce winds gusted, knocking down branches and trees. Feliciano was bravely crouched behind a very sturdy oak with four white flags out and ready, one behind his ear, two in either hand, and one tucked into the chest pocket of his blue uniform. He stuffed one in the nook of the oak too. It wants one too, he assumed.

He was the guardian of this gate after all. Things that came from outside would end up here. Above lightening lashed across the sky, thunder grumbling behind it. He flinched when his easel toppled over a few feet away, his half-finished painting falling to the ground. Still he dare not move.

His jaw dropped as a tunnel formed in the clouds, spiraling down until the funnel touched the ground a few feet in front of him. A ball of light flashed through its center, racing down and when it hit down, Feliciano was thrown backward several feet, his head knocking hard against something.

He must have blacked out for a couple minutes because when he came to the storm was dissolving as if it had never been. Rubbing the back of his head, he stood up, blinking at the flattened trees and destruction, he made his way to where that funnel touched down.

A man with sandy-blonde hair in a hauberk was curled on the ground around a thick bundle of white and red cloth. He had a bag on his back. Feliciano sniffed the air. Blood? The cloth wasn't red, he realized, it was bloody and from that scent held the sweet tang of fairy blood.

"H-hello?" Feliciano said. The cloth moved and he heard a baby sniffle. He brought a baby?

The man with the bushy eyebrows slowly sat up, holding the bundle, he looked around with keen interest before locking his eyes on Feliciano. He asked, "Are you by chance a fairy?"

"Mostly," Feliciano answered shyly, tucking away his flags.

"Is this the Fairyland?" The man said, standing up and using one hand to dust himself off.

"Ve ~. It is a land and it has fairies. And who are you?" Feliciano replied.

"Excuse my bad manners at not introducing myself," The man said, wonder creeping into his eyes as he glanced around. "I am Arthur Kirkland, King of England." There was movement in his arms and then he held out the baby, "I have come to return this child. I'm certain it is of the Fae."

Before Feliciano could see the baby's face there was a bang and a flash of light to the left. They turned to see Lady Summer there, fire licking the sides of her form. Her features were painted with fury like he'd never seen. He shrunk back, saying, "M-my Lady?"

The flames disappeared around her as she blinked in shock at Arthur and said, "M-Merlin?" Feliciano looked again at the man, recalling foggy memories of centuries ago. He could see the resemblance. It's the eyebrows.

"He was my ancestor," Arthur answered, his face trying to cloud over his eagerness. "Are you Lady Summer?"

"His ancestor?" She repeated and then that anger returned. "You're the one that broke the seal? What have you done?"

"S-seal?" He said dumbly, "You mean the ritual?"

"Ritual? What ritual?"  
>"The one in Merlin's tome. I...I only wanted to see if the legends are true," He defended, holding up the child, "And th-."<p>

"Thanks to you," She interrupted, "The Seal of the Mind is broken."

Feliciano gasped and said, "Then General Winter is free?"

"General Winter?" Arthur whispered and then realization hit him. "You mean the General Winter?"

"The very one."

"He's sealed here, too?"

She laughed and shook her head, "Not here, but by here. You have destroyed the Seal of the Mind that contained both him and me. It won't take him long to fully stir and use his freed mind to find some poor victim to attach to. That's one life on your head."

Arthur paled, "B-but I didn't know."

"You didn't?" She mused, "But you knew how to get here? How to break in? Are you a servant of Winter?" The air heated up.

"N-No, no, of course not!" He stammered, shaking his head. "I used Merlin's Tome."

"His tome?" She said with a frown, "He wrote it down?" Her expression changed to thoughtfulness and then she sniffed. "I smell blood on you. What have you?" Her eyes fell on the child.

"It is a baby of the fae," He said, proffering the child. "It needs help."

"You sought to bargain for favor with this baby?" Summer noted. Arthur gasped when the babe floated from his grasp and into her arms.

"No, I just w-wanted to save the child. That's all," He insisted.

"But you used its dying life to power your spell," She said and looked shocked when she saw the baby. "This child. Feliciano!" She waved him over. When he saw who the babe was his eyes widened.

"But that's..." They exchanged a worried expression and looked at Arthur.

"Question him," Summer said, "I haven't a moment to lose if I am to save him."

"Yes my Lady," Feliciano said and in a flash of light she was gone.

"The baby?" Arthur asked, looking befuddled.

"Being saved," Feliciano answered, floating up several feet in the air, he studied the man. "She will not let that child die."

"Do you know him?" Arthur asked, "I was right. He is a child of the Fae!"

"Where did you find him?" Feliciano inquired, folding up his legs as he sat down in the air and propped his chin on his fist.

"In the woods," Arthur answered, "He had been attacked by Wargs."

"Wargs?" Feliciano squealed, "That's terrible!" Can't really remember the other one.

"Pish-posh," He scoffed, "Surely there is a way to repair it. If it was cast in the first place, maybe I ca-." Feliciano's laughter interrupted. "If it's so serious, why are you laughing?"

"I'm laughing with you, I'm laughing at you," Feliciano mused and Arthur scowled. "Sorry, it's just you remind me of this pasta recipe I tried that didn't work. The noodles came out soggy and way too salty like you."

"Hmmph," Arthur harrumphed, "And I should have known a Fae could make light of anything."

"Oh, I'm not making light of this," Feliciano said, "My white flag collection has been waiting for this."

"White flag collection?" Arthur said with a raised eyebrow.

"So tell me when thousands, if not hundred of thousands, are dead because of your curiosity, what will you tell them?" Feliciano asked, threading his fingers together. "Will you say, 'Sorry about your parents, chaps! I didn't know. All the best"

Arthur paled and licked his lips, "You're not serious. What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the end of everything," Feliciano said, floating onto his back. "You, me, the world. Everyone will probably die now. That seal was keeping it all safe."

"But the tome didn't mention...," He trailed off, frowning deeply.

"It didn't?" Feliciano inquired, "Rather irresponsible of Merlin."

"It was never in the tome," Arthur confessed, "But Merlin on his death bed tried to have the tome destroyed. It was his last request. Maybe it has a way to fix this," He said, dropping down, he reached into his bag and pulled out the leather-bound worn tome.

Feliciano sighed and asked Arthur, "You cannot fix this. Winter's mind is free. What's done is done. But you can tell me something about that boy?"

"Alfred?" He named him?

"Alfred?" Feliciano said and nodded, "I like that name." She would have liked that. "Did he have a brother by chance?"

"Oh, Ma...Mat... what did I name him?" Arthur frowned, "Anyhow he was fine."

"Did you bring him?" Feliciano asked, leaning forward.

"N-No, of course not," Arthur replied, "I couldn't carry both."

Feliciano groaned and shook his head. "Another soul on your head."

"But he was fine," Arthur protested, "What the devil are you talking about?"

"Those two must always been in the same world," Feliciano explained, "You didn't get what you were doing at all, did you? And now we are all doomed."

"For being doomed, you sure are making light of it," Arthur noted.

"Well, at this point I just don't know how to behave. Crying and screaming won't make it right. Might as well enjoy my final moments. Hey," Feliciano said, looking Arthur up and down. "If it weren't for those eyebrows, you'd be a cutie."

"I beg your pardon!" Arthur huffed, plantings fists on his side.

"Ooh, anger. I like that," Feliciano said lewdly, "As you English say, fancy a shag?"

Arthur gaped in horror and then came the yelling and death-threats if Feliciano laid one had on him. All of which Feliciano ignored as he grabbed Arthur's upper arm.

"Are you out of your mind? I'm a King!" Arthur said, trying to beat Feliciano off, but the fairy was agile and swift, he kept dodging Arthur's blows.

"Relax, I said if it weren't for the eyebrows you'd be attractive. You're sadly not my type even if you are blonde," Feliciano chuckled.

Arthur blushed. "You sir, unhand me!" He gasped as Feliciano lifted him up.

"You will come with me, ve ~" Feliciano replied.

"To where?"

"To Lady Summer of course." Then they winked out.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::0::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  
>Present Day<p>

"And thus Eyebrows came to live with us...," Feliciano finished with a great flourish of his hands, bowing.

"Strange, I don't remember eating pasta in all that," Summer said.

"Really, could have sworn...," Feliciano trailed off, tapping his lip, "Well, not matter."

"So who saved me?"

"I gave you some of my essence. It's still in you and gives you your great healing power."

"Saving a child hardly seems like a sin," Alfred replied.

"Didn't you listen?" Feliciano said, "He's the reason Winter got out. He broke The Seal of the Mind."

"Can't you just re-seal him?" Alfred said.

"Well, if Winter was willing to just lie down and let us, sure," Lady Summer said, "But seeing as that won't happen, then no. Winter and I are a split soul. What happens to one, happens to the other."

Alfred opened his mouth, but she continued, "Yes, I see the question and no it won't work. We heal each other to fast. We can't help it. No weapon or spell of this world can harm us, but magic can seal us if the spell is cast at the exact same time. For this reason, as Merlin sealed me here, Winter was sealed away in Russia at the same time with the exact same seals."

"By Merlin?"

"No, Al, by the Winter's own followers, his most trusted allies, the Braginsky Clan."

"Branisky?" He had heard that name before.

"Braginsky," Feliciano corrected.

"They were his loyal War Mages. Their leader betrayed Winter to protect this world. There is not a mage now that has the skill nor the ability to perform such a spell, let along two."

"Then what do you do?"

"At this point, there is nothing I can do. If I leave here and confront him, Winter will be fully free. All that keeps his body sealed and the bulk of his power is my presence here," She said, pointing at the ground for emphasis on the last word. "Last time we fought the world nearly ended."

"Then what do we do? My brother's kingdom is being destroyed."

"Winter's trying to force my hand," Summer said, "I can feel him near. Now that he knows I'm here, he will not wait to truly begin his assault. He will wait a little longer, until next Winter when he grows stronger than me and then he will bury the kingdoms."

"Next Winter?" Alfred said with a frown, "It was the end of Fall when I left. How long have I been here?"

"Spring is just arriving out there," She answered. Alfred just stared. "Time moves differently here."

"You're kidding. You've got to be fucking joking," He muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I promised my bro I'd help. I was gonna try to drop in for Christmas with the family. Dammit." He kicked at the air and then rounded on her. "And there's nothing you can do? I just wasted my time coming here? Myrtle was right! This was a stupid idea."

"Who's Myrtle?" Feliciano inquired.

"My brother! Duh!" Alfred said. Why does everyone keep forgetting his name? "So it's hopeless!"

"Not quite. We do have something Winter never anticipated. You."

"Me?" He said, pointing at himself.

"You're Ivan's soulmate."

"Not this crap again," He said, rolling his eyes.

"From what Feliciano said, you've mated wit him," Summer said and Alfred blushed, throwing Feliciano a glare. The fairy smiled sheepishly and backed away. "And if that's true than shards of Ivan's soul and memory are now inside you."

He felt a warm wind whirl past him and then Lady Summer stood on that silvery liquid pool beside Emil. The surface of it never rippled or stirred with her footfalls. She extended a hand and waved for Alfred to come forward.

"Come to me, Al. Come see what Ivan put in your heart. The parts of him that are now shared by you two. See what he saw. Feel what he felt. Experience how Winter's Lord was created."

"By bathing?" He asked dumbly.

"this is no ordinary pool," She said, "It is the Pool of Reflection. A door into the mind that General Autumn gave as a gift to me long ago. It reflects what's in you. Let's you immerse in yourself." Alfred hesitated and she said, "Are you afraid?"

That did it! Alfred F. Jones feared nothing and he was starting to remember that about himself. He marched forward, ready to face whatever was in him.

End of Chapter 26. Up next... A child lies broken and bleeding in the snow. He prays for death, but knows it won't come. Then a voice on the wind calls him, lures him, into a most unspeakable bargain... Chapter 27: The Lord of Winter


	25. The Gift Giver

(My Young Frankenstein tribute joke is in here. See if you can spot it.)

**Chapter 32**

**The Gift-Giver**

"Are you sure, Majesty?" Gilbert asked again, running a hand through his silvery-hair. "I mean he could be an assassin! I haven't ruled that out! And that hair curl..." Gilbert's eyes twitched as he said that last word.

"Enough about the hair curl!" Matthew mumbled, crossing his arms. He sat a table beside the bed now fully dressed in a powder-blue coat with gold buttons that each had a maple leaf insignia engraved on the front. He had at least talked the Captain of the Guard into letting him out of bed. The man was far too paranoid. It made Matthew wonder who was in charge sometimes. "I'm sure it's just a different strand of hair that's curling up."

"No, it's not!" Gilbert insisted. Matthew restrained the urge to roll his eyes. "It moves I tell you! It moves! It's a devil's strand!" The Prussian paced again back and forth in the room.

"Enough Gilbert, you said you're positive he's the Norwegian Lord..."

"He has his seal," Gilbert agreed. "But that hair curl!"

"Stop with the _maple_ hair curl!" Matthew said, slamming a fist down on the table. He squeaked, rubbing his fist. _That hurt_. Gilbert had become borderline obsessed with what he insisted what's the Norwegian Lord's moving "hair curl". Matthew thought Gilbert was being ridiculous.

"You watch it! You'll see!" Gilbert said, pointing at his temple. "It moves! I swear it's mocking me," He said, looking around furtively.

_Oh brother, now who's losing it_. "The Lord has waited long enough. Send him in."

"But Majesty, are you sure you're well. you only recently felt yourself again," Gilbert argued, but Matthew drummed his fingers on the table, leveling his gaze on the Prussian. "But that curl!"

Matthew groaned and threw up his hands. Gilbert had filled him well on what happened two days ago.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::~Two Days Earlier~ ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"I am the Lord of Norway."

Gilbert snorted, laughing, "And I'm the King of Spain."

"Really, what brought you here?" Lukas Bondvik inquired.

Gilbert frowned, muttering, "I was being sarcastic. Never mind. If you are who you who you say you are, what are you doing traveling alone through a blizzard?"

"Alone?" Lukas said, quirking an eyebrow, he gestured around him. "I am not alone. My friends are with me."

_He's insane_. "Erm...," Gilbert exchanged a baffled expression with the guard Hemsley who was slowly reaching for the hilt of his blade. "I see no one."

"Just because you cannot see them does not mean they are not here," Lukas countered. "They are my escort."

"Riiight," Gilbert said, starting to gesture for the open doors behind Lukas. "Well, I don't think we can help you here. My men will show you to somewhere where they'll help you." _Like an insane asylum_.

Hemsley cried out and dropped his sword to the floor, clutching his hand in pain. "Something bit me, sir," He told Gilbert, looking anxiously at his sword.

Lukas sighed and in a scolding tone said something to nothing but air on his left in what Gilbert assumed what Norwegian, before turning back to Gilbert, "My apologies for that. My friends' get aggressive in their defense of me."

Gilbert just stared. Hemsley reluctantly tried to pick up his sword again, but yelped again and Lukas scolded again what looked empty space on his left. "They can be stubborn," Lukas apologized. "If he doesn't raise his sword to me, they'll stop."

"Who will stop?"

"My friends," Lukas replied. Behind him two servants appeared and after a nod from Gilbert began to close the oak doors, cutting off the icy wind that was blowing inside. A moment later the door was shut and the only light came from the torchlight to the sides and the tiny windows above. "My apologies for not introducing him," Lukas said, his face remaining impassive as he held up a hand to his left. "This is my troll. I would tell you his name, but those not familiar with the tongue of my land would have a difficult time pronouncing it and he gets so easily offended if they say it wrong. So for this reason you may call him troll. My other two," Lukas nodded above his head and to his right shoulder, "Are my isse and my fairy friend."

"Uh-huh," Gilbert said, his hand itching to draw his blade. "Trolls, fairies, and Itch-."

"_Isse_," Lukas corrected, "Rather lovely creatures though they are not so loved by the English. The English love their magical creatures to be cute and lovely. Never understood that. I, myself, prefer the company of goblins, trolls, ogres, and that lot. They have more personality. It's not their fault if they aren't pretty. Do you not think so?"

"Meh," Gilbert managed. He was a heartbeat from calling this man a lunatic.

"Ah, you still do not believe me," Lukas noted, reaching behind himself to pull something about from under his cloth. A scarlet cloth that he unfolded revealing a silver seal with a Nordic Cross engraved on the front inlaid by tiny writing. Gilbert gasped, taking a step forward. "The seal of the King of Norway."

"How did you...?"

"I am no thief," Lukas said, "And I did send an official letter, but I fear it was lost in the snows. "Examine it to your hearts content. You will find it is as genuine as my claim."

"All right," Gilbert said, folding his arms, "Say I believe you, my _Lord_. What brings you here through such difficult weather so far from your lands?"

"Gifts," Lukas answered, "Ones of both word and items that I must bring for the Canadian Lord alone. For our world is quite troubled."

"Well, I'm sorry to say that his lordship is unwell. You may have wasted a trip."

"He will be better tomorrow," Lukas replied airily, gazing about the room as if it were more far more interesting than Gilbert or his guard. _Not awesome_.

"And how would you know that?"

"I have friends on the other side," Lukas responded dreamily. "And it is vital that we meet."

"More of these friends that no one can see?" Gilbert asked skeptically.

"People with open minds can see. But yours is a closed book. I doubt you even see the spirits of this castle. A pity that, since they are so kind," Lukas said, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Spirits?" Gilbert groaned, trying not to roll his eyes. "There are no such things." Now that he thought about it, he had heard rumors of the Norwegian Lord being something of an eccentric recluse. Gilbert frowned, leaning forward he studied Lukas closer, asking, "Say, was your hair curl on the right side before?"

"What curl?" Lukas said, tilting his head.

"N-never mind," Gilbert said, shaking his head. _I must have seen it wrong_. The curl was on the left just above the man's ear. Gilbert would have to be careful though. If this was the Norwegian Lord than it was also the man rumored to have attempted to strangle Denmark's Lord once.

"You know I am rather fond of poltergeists," Lukas mused.

"Huh?" Gilbert gaped, confused by the sudden topic shift.

"I used to have this one who made the walls bleed. Scared the maids silly, but I thought he was really dear," Lukas continued, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "And werewolves, what fun! They are really misunderstood. They are like," He paused, ruminating, "Giant puppies with razor-sharp teeth. Just do not let them bite you and all is well."

"Uh-huh," Gilbert said, "How about we show you to your room." He nodded for Hemsley to get it ready and the guard took off, probably glad to be away from this madman.

"That would be lovely, can we have an extra small bed for my troll friend. Normally I would share but he has taken to kicking me in his sleep at night."

"Whatever you want," Gilbert said as they went down a side hall.

"I must tell of chimeras," Lukas said. _Please don't_, but the Lord did anyway, "I think they are so much more enjoyable than unicorns. They let you touch them after all. None of this purity business. I could go on and on about the joys of wyverns over dragons. Not that they're are many dragons left in this part of the world. Not many left of anything these days. Still I have always held a fascination for gargoyles over elves, dwarves over gnomes. I could go on..."

Gilbert groaned, glancing back, he halted in his tracks.

"Something wrong?" Lukas inquired. Gilbert leaned forward, it was a little dark to be sure, but he could almost swear.

"Is that hair curl behind your ear now?" He asked.

"What curl?"

"No offense my Lord, but please tell me your are joking."

"Oh, you want a joke," Lukas said softly, giving a small nod. "Very well. A troll, an ogre, and a behemoth walked into a tavern..."

Gilbert threw up his hands and continued striding. It would be a long day.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::~The Present~::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Gilbert stood guard at the door behind Lukas who sat in a chair facing Matthew. The Norwegian had seated himself rather primly and said nothing. _Awkward_. Matthew coughed and asked, "So...um... how are your accommodations, eh?"

"Lovely, though I must apologize," Lukas said, taking on a sad tone. "I fear my _isse_ may have upset your banshee."

"Banshee?" Matthew said, starting to chuckled, but he stopped realizing Lukas wasn't joking. "We don't have a banshee or any specter here."

"Oh, but you do," Lukas replied, "They are just the very quiet kind. The banshee sometimes visits from the depths of the castle. She and that grumpy ghost. The castle has old bones that go way back."

Matthew caught sight of Gilbert pointing at Lukas with one hand and using his other forefinger to spin in a circle around his temple in the gesture of, _He's nuts!_ Matthew shot him a warning glare, his lips tightening.

"Something the matter?" Lukas asked, looking over his shoulder at Gilbert who had gone back to attention.

"N-nothing," Matthew said, picking up his tea cup and taking a sip. Just the right of maple added to give it a good blend of sweetness. "Please have some tea." He only looked away for a moment when there was a loud sneeze. He glanced at Gilbert who shrugged and then at Lukas who was looking at nothing but air on his right.

"Bless you," Lukas said.

"I didn't sneeze."

"I know, my fairy did. She has a caught a small cold I'm afraid. Poor thing," Lukas said and Matthew just looked from side to side and set his cups down.

"I-I see," Matthew said. He threw another warning look at Gilbert who was doing more gestures at the Lord's backs. _Stop that!_ Matthew tried to say with his eyes without Lukas noticing.

"W-what brings you here, my Lord?" Matthew asked.

"Gifts," Lukas said, reaching behind him to place a brown cloth bundle on his lap. He reached into it and pulled out a medium-sized wooden box. "I hope you liked them."

"Y-you brought me gifts?" Matthew said, feeling sincerely delighted. Nobody had ever remembered him long enough to do such things. "You shouldn't ha...," He trailed off, his smile becoming plastered on as Lukas opened the box and revealed the contents. _Maple_. He didn't know what it was and he was positive he didn't want to. It was a shriveled brown sac the size of his fist with twine tied at the top.

"Do you like it?" Lukas inquired eagerly, handing the box to Matthew who desperately tried to mask his horror. "My _friends_ were sure you would. It gives protection from dark magic creatures."

"I-It does?"

"Yes, in the magical kingdom there is not better protection than dried ogre testicles," Lukas chirped. Matthew's face froze and out of the corner of his eye he saw Gilbert clap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing as his other hand clutched at his stomach. "The testicles have a very pronounced odor and since most things fear ogres, they will all avoid you."

"Oh, h-how nice," Matthew managed, snapping the box shut he placed it on the table. "W-why thank you for the thoughtful gift." Meanwhile Gilbert's face was turning red from his effort not to laugh. _Keep it up Gilbert and I'll give you a reason to suffocate_.

"Make sure you keep under you bed at night. That way the bad creatures will leave you be," Lukas said, nodding.

_Maple no_. "O-of course," He said, forcing himself to be polite. Gilbert was now close to collapsing from holding it in. He was biting his thumb and beads of sweat were on his brow. _You jerk!_

_ "_I brought more," Lukas added, pulling out a small black-painted box. Matthew swallowed, but relaxed to see it was a leather necklace with a tiny stoppered crystal vial on the end. "I know this isn't much, but if you never need a quick boost of energy, drink this. May I?" The Lord asked, partially standing up and Matthew smiled and bowed his head, allowing the Lord slip it over his head.

"It's quite pretty," Matthew commented, letting the white liquid in the vial moved as he tilted it. "Is this some kind of milk?"

"You are very close, my Lord," Lukas beamed, "It is actually _wyvern_ sperm!" Matthew dropped the vial and almost gagged. A snort of laughter escaped Gilbert and Lukas glanced over his shoulder questioningly. Matthew narrowed his eyes, but was all smiles when Lukas came back to facing him. "They say if you drink it you'll be fantastic in bed." Matthew blushed fiercely, heat radiating through him.

More laughter burst out of Gilbert and Lukas looked at him again. "My apologies," Gilbert said, clutching at his stomach, red-faced from trying to hold it in. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, "I ate something that didn't agree with me."

"Are you all right? Do you need to rest?" Lukas inquired.

"I'm fine," Gilbert managed, wiping away the tears as he bit his lip to mask his barely contained grin. "Merely tears of joy at your gifts." He looked away another giggle bubbling out. _You are so dead after this Gilbert_. Matthew gritted his teeth.

Lukas nodded and turned back, saying, "I have one more gift. A late Christmas present."_ No more. Please_.

"Y-you shouldn't have." _You really shouldn't have._

Matthew's hands trembled as he accepted the small box and opened it to find a large tooth. "A Dragon's tooth. Very rare," Lukas explained, "It can start a fire with anything. Merely scratch something with it and even wet tinder will burn."

"That actually sounds very useful."

Lukas stood up, folding up the cloth, "Now if you will excuse me. I will leave you to rest."

"But I thou-."

"Tomorrow. We will talk again tomorrow," Lukas said, bowing, he saw himself out. When he was out of ear range, Gilbert shut the door and collapsed in a fit of laughter on the floor, he practically rolled around, pointing at Matthew who stared at him with narrowed eyes.

"Forgive my language, but that was fucking hilarious!" Gilbert giggled, pounding a fist on the floor as he peeled with laughter.

"Keep laughing, Gilbert, and you'll be wearing this testicle." That stopped Gilbert cold.

"You wouldn't, your Majesty," Gilbert said, scrambling to his feet.

"Try me and I'll make it a new policy. That this," He said, waving at the box, "Is standard issue for the Captain of the Guard to wear."

Gilbert gasped, "But Majesty, your gift will look so puny next to my five meters!" And then he was laughing again and pounding at the wall. "Get it? Did you get it? My five meters?" He pointed at his crotch for emphasis.

Matthew just glared at the ceiling. _Some days I wonder about him._ One thing he knew for sure, when he was better. They were playing hockey.

**End of Chapter 32. **More Alfred and Ivan stuff. **Chapter 33: Moscow**

**AN**

Okay there are about 17 more chapters to Part Two and then it's finally over. Part Two has its own little mini-finale.

About the smut... I push own personal boundary's here at . My own real writing is far, far cleaner. I'd die of embarrassment of my real name were attached to this.

Since I experiment a lot I think some of my smut is really hot, some silly, and some just plain gross. I am curious though if some find it too much. I can tone it down a lot of people would rather see less of it.

This started out a smut piece, but it gained a plot. I consider this more an erotica now than a smut.

Smut - pure sex, almost no plot.

Erotica - lots of sex, but a plot.

Kushiel's Chosen would be a prime example of Erotica.

This site is really where I push scenes and see if they work or don't work. For example, *reviewers burst out laughing*... hmmm... that smut scene didn't work.

*reviewer drooling* ... smut scene worked.

Decisions, decisions, but I hope you're enjoying this erotica.


	26. Epilogue

**(I know some will be unhappy that Alfred and Ivan are absent, but their epilogue was too long and not written. I'm thinking of doing something later and putting that on my site. Below is a big author's not that explains it.)**

**UPDATE: I MADE A POLL! **

**Antonio and Lovino**

Antonio sometimes sat in thought remembering of all things Lord Milano or Lovino, whoever he had been. He had barely known the man and yet he had made an impression on him. One that still came back in his dreams.

The world had become rather peaceful. The States were blossoming though here in Western Europe they rather preferred to ignore them.

He still remembered that night Lovino sneaked into his room and kissed him, looking like he wanted to go further, but instead whispered. _Remember this night and dream of a love that might have been_.

Antonio could still remember those soft lips grazing his lips. He shook his head. No matter how many women he slept with, that one encounter had more meaning. It was strange. He wasn't in the slightest attracted to men, he had tried and just couldn't do it, but he had been to Lord Milano.

It was an attraction, but a feeling that he should have had a chance to know the man and help him.

It was as if he was more than just a man. More than a human and Antonio sat sullenly, in his carriage gazing out when something - someone caught his eye.

"Stop the carriage!" He cried, not even waiting for the driver to stop, he leapt out, not even waiting for his guards who were escorting. He ran through the crowd and into a back alley, it was empty.

"Damn," He said. His guards just catching up. He was about to leave when he heard a sneeze and saw the thief, a boy. He pulled the box he was hiding under aside.

"What?" The kid snapped. He was scrawny and starved. He looked barely eight. _it can't be_. It was impossible, but the face was the spitting image of Lovino's. He even had the hair curl.

"What's your name, boy?" He demanded.

"Boy!" The kid snapped, backing up like a feral cat.

"Your name is boy?"

"So? I ain't got a name! That's what everyone called me. I ain't worth a name the orphanage bastard said. I didn't do no harm. I just wanted to eat."

"Enough about the stolen bread. I will compensate the baker," he nodded to his guards and one took off to do it. "So you're an orphan?"

"Yeah, genius. That's what I just said!" His brown eyes sparkled in the morning light and Antonio wondered. He even had the same kind of hair curl as Lovino.

"Would you like to have home?" Antonio offered. _Have I been given another chance to help Lord Milano?_

The boy glared at him and after a long pause, looking at his regal clothes nodded and said, "I suppose I owe you for the bread."

And they walked away hand and hand. And that was how Antonio adopted the orphan boy and raised the "ungrateful brat" as he took to calling him to which the ungrateful brat would call him "that stupid bastard" in response. And they were happy for many years even if that _boy_ would rather die than admit it.

**Francis and Arthur**

There was a loud crash, followed by a scream of "Bloody Hell!" and then a door thrown open. The servants were already ready and had the luxurious front doors carved with opulent decor, pulled open.

It didn't take long before a cursing and half-dressed former English King was running out, heading for his quarters outside the castle, screaming how this would never happen again.

"Oh, mon Amor, you can run, but you cannot hide," Francis laughed, following along. The servants averted their eyes as their naked lord all but floated by, not bothering with clothes meanwhile Arthur continued to scream and rant, trying to grab his gear.

He would eventually leave, but not before being molested several times and talking about how this was a one time thing.

It was always the same with those two. Arthur having been gone all those years had decided not to cause civil war in the country and just pass his title to his younger brother who in turn had made Arthur "ambassador" to France. Several rumors were floating about why. Firstly, that his younger brother disliked Arthur and had sought to punish him by appointing him as ambassador to France. Or that Arthur had asked, though most dismissed that one. Or that Francis had pressed on the King that Arthur be sent as the ambassador. Most elected the latter.

Normally, ambassadors lived closed to the castle, but Arthur's home was practically at the gates and if not for Arthur refusing to live in the castle, Francis had tried to have the English ambassador live in his room, but had relented when Arthur had threatened to live in the gutter over that.

Yet every night was the same routine. Arthur and Francis getting drunk as Francis needs to discuss "international policy" yet somehow always Arthur ends up in his bed and wakes the next morning shrieking about the nasty frog and running out while a naked Francis happily pursued.

The servants just rolled their eyes. _Those two_.

**Toris and Natalia**

**(It was Matthew who helped Natalia out of her madness. She's much improved by this point. Sorta._) _**

"How was it sister?" Katyusha asked as a smiling Natalia came out.

"Wonderful," Natalia answered, beaming. Katyusha started to sigh in relief and then saw the specks of blood on Natalia's white glove.

"What did...," Katyusha trailed off and rushed into the room to see Lord Toris laying on the floor, coughing up blood, his lip split.

"Lady Katyusha," he greeted, a couple teeth were missing in his mouth.

"The courtship...," Katyusha trailed off, gaping at the sight.

"It went wonderfully," he said, slowly picking himself off. He wobbled, clutching at his head. Katyusha made to help him and noticed something on the floor. "It's love. I know it."

_"_Pardon me, but is this your tooth?" She said, holding it up, glad she had on gloves.

"Oh thank you," he said, taking it. He sighed, staring off with that love-struck look.

"Are you okay?" She asked, but Toris just sighed again.

"Better than okay. Wonderful. I'm winning her over," He said, cupping his cheeks and giggling like a young maiden with a crush.

"Er...," Katyusha said. _These two make Alfred and Ivan look normal. "_Are you sure about that?"

"Positive," he replied. "Last time we were introduced years ago my dear sweet buttercup, _Natalia_," He said the name almost like it was a caress. "broke all my fingers. This time she merely uppercutted me. Don't you see? She's softening to me. Just wait, I'll win her yet."

Then he took off all but prancing out of the room. Katyusha just gaped. _What is with my family and strange relationships?_

"You'll have a normal one right?" She said, patting her round stomach. It wouldn't be much longer before her and Matthew's third child was born. Both were hoping for a second girl. Their first was a boy and so very much like Alfred. As much as Matthew loved his son the kid drove him up the wall, especially when uncle Alfred came to visit or when he allowed Gilbert around the kid.

**Ludi and Feli**

Ludwig had not heard or seen Feliciano in two long years and while he was not interested in seeing him. Of course, not, he still wondered why. Rumor had it that a new lord in Italy had come to power though there was much speculation there was little information. Just some tidbits about the new lord loving white flags and pasta.

Now all of the sudden the new Italian Lord had sent him this large wooden crate that had up on top a piece of paper with _From Italy_ written on it. He had not met the guy, but this was the kingdom descended from the Great Roman Empire.

Picking up the crowbar one of his servants brought him, he decided to open it himself. He wedged it between the lid and the crate and counted down in German and on one he pressed down, prying the lid off

The person inside was indeed a surprise.

_Fin_

*Rolls credits*

**AN (Warning - this is very long)**

First the bad news. I will take down all but this chapter and one other of Lord of Winter by **August 4th, 2012.** The Canadian and The American will be left up. At the moment I have no plans to take that down.

Perhaps one day my feelings toward this will change, but for now you have until then to enjoy The Lord of Winter. Two chapters of it will be left up because I simply cannot bring myself to lose all these wonderful reviews. Of course, my hits will drop to almost zero. (Every time you delete a chapter you lose all the hits.)

Now for the fluffy stuff...

I want to thank my anonymous reviewers though I don't know who you are your reviews were always cherished. For those who I do know, however, I compiled a list of how many reviews everyone did on "The Lord of Winter". For in-depth reviews I counted the review twice (I think that's fair).

So the first list is for my top reviewers. Coming in at number one is... *drumroll*

**Sailor Taichichi Vegeta**with a whopping **35 reviews**.

*applause* I want to thank you so much for giving such support and would like to offer you a one-shot. If you are interested please pm within three days time with the details of what pairing you would like and what kind of genre you want.

If I don't hear from you then the one-shot will go to the runner up who is...

**Curious1here** at **34 reviews** *applause*.

Here is my list of the top ten reviewers, keeping in mind that in-depth reviews counted double:

**1.) Sailor Taichichi Vegeta (35)**

**2.) Curious1here (34)**

**3.) Usagi323 (30)**

**4.) XxSmartiesxX (26)**

**5.) Safety Scissors (I counted both your identities for this tally) (25)**

**6.) Miss Macabre Grey (24) **

**7.) xxSweet Memory (19)**

**8.) Salenastrazz (18)**

**9.) Blackwitches Cat (17) / Chelseaj500 (17)**

**10.) Bookworm24601 (14)**

If you are on the list than I owe you guys big time. Though this is a rough estimation because some counts were doubled, but all together you guys account for about **259** of my reviews. Thank you so much. *BIG HUGS*.

As a special reward I would like to offer you all access to a secret update I will post later on my site. It's not much, but it's extras, featuring the Jones family and how things go when Alfred introduces Ivan as his boyfriend. I'll send you guys the password later when I have it ready. Again I can't thank you guys enough.

Now for the next list:

**11.) Magic is everywhere (13)/ Bai-Marionette (13)**

**12.) Germerica (12)**

**13.) Vine8ky (9)**

**14.) Queen Vamp (8) / DanieSora (8)/ Noko Neko Lover (8)**

**15.) TehJellyFish (7) / Sazuka-chan (7)**

**16.) Nekokayia (6) / TobitheNinjuaKitten (6)**

Thank you guys for your wonderful contributions. I'd like to release at a later date the tarot readings of Matthew by Madam Tussaud and for when Lovino visits her which explains what she really is. I know it's not much, but I hope you'll enjoy.

As for everyone else. I'm sorry if I forgot anyone else on this list, but I want to give a big thanks to...

**ACSshadowdragon, YamiMizuna, Dualsky, Un Amore Belle, Lady Cooper, Soffiz, SomeNavyRecruit, sabacat, Kichino Sarafu, tntfriday, Hyugame, kinginryu, Hiyon Kazariki, Secretassassingirl, Niji-chi, irene n valley, Cold War Devil, crackerjack45, SonikZoom, rexlover180, Silvertrain, Love-for-bakas, princesspug, gamegirlexp, Oceanfur, Sesrin, Emismpunk, Pumpkin Maximus, Beyond Birthday Forever, Hiyon Kazariki, Vyke95, writeoutloud90, artfan, Kaylm Iiditra, lebunnylub.**

And to my numerous anonymous reviewers. I'm sorry I don't know who you are, but you provided lots of motivation to take it this far.

**UPDATE: I made a poll. Some have requested certain chapters be left up. I think I could leave up three. So please vote on your favorite. The top three I will leave up past the August deadline. I'm also curious what people's favorite chapters were anyway. :)**


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